The Late, Great Sam Axe
by WritePassion
Summary: Being declared legally dead can really ruin a guy's day. Despite the fact that he's still walking around and breathing, a clerical error causes Sam all sorts of problems. But was it a mistake, a prank, or something more sinister? Sam enlists Fiona and Jesse's aid to find out the truth before he becomes the late, great Sam Axe.
1. Chapter 1

_Burn Notice: I don't own it, I just like to play with it._

**The Late, Great Sam Axe**

By Write Passion

"Oh my..." Elsa sucked in a breath. "Sam, you're dead."

"What?"

Sam was thinking about the morning's activities that began with a little Sammy time with Elsa. After breakfast in the hotel cafe holding hands across the table and sparks of love flashing back and forth between them, he was with her in her office, waiting for Elsa to finish up some business before they spent the afternoon together. Ever since his best friend Michael Westen took off to do God knows what with the CIA, Elsa had been a very worthy distraction to keep at bay his anxiety for his friend's safety.

"Sammy, you're not listening to me!" Elsa lightly slapped his shoulder, shocking him from his daydream.

"Well, if I'm dead, how'd I feel that?" From where he sat in the cushy kid leather chair, Sam scowled and looked up at Elsa standing over him with a manila envelope in her hand, and he zeroed in on the packet the size of a piece of paper. "What's that?"

"This came in my mail." Elsa held it out, a thin stack with a sheet of stark white government stationery on top. "You're not going to believe this, Sam. Someone in the government thinks you're dead."

Scowling, Sam took the paperwork from her and scanned it. "What the... this is ridiculous! It's gotta be some kind of joke!"

"I only read the first paragraph, but if it's a joke, it's pretty elaborate. I mean, look at that stationery, it looks real," Elsa said with a worried furrow to her brow. "Who would do this to you? It's sick."

"Oh, somebody probably entered a wrong Social Security number in the system, and it just snowballed from there." He scanned the letter and muttered a few curses under his breath. "This is not good, Elsa. They're cutting off my pension, looking for my next of kin to arrange my burial... how the hell can they do that without a body?"

"I'd be really worried if they already had a date and time in that letter." Elsa remarked. "Your good suit is at the cleaners. I'd hate for you to show up at your own funeral looking like a mess."

"Haha, very funny," he muttered and threw the papers on her desk. "You know if something happens to me that I'm being buried in my favorite shirt and white pants. Right?" He growled and ran a hand through his hair while his mind raced. "Never mind, this is pointless. Don't worry, Baby, I'll make a few phone calls and get this all straightened out." He kissed her on the cheek, grabbed the papers and turned, eager to get everything worked out before lunch time. "See you later!"

Only it wasn't as easy as he thought. A call to the Social Security Administration turned into an hour long bounce from one person to another. Sam tired of telling the story over and over, and no one seemed to know who should take care of it.

"I'm sorry, Sir. You'll have to provide proof of death to straighten this out," one disinterested woman intoned as if he was the hundredth problem she'd been given that morning.

"But I'm not dead, so how can I produce a death certificate? That's insane!"

She paused, and Sam felt a spark of hope rise up in him. He'd gotten through to her.

After a few seconds, she replied, "That does put you in a bit of a bind, doesn't it. I'm sorry, Mr. Axe, I don't know how we can reconcile this without a copy of the death certificate. I suggest you contact the county in which you reside for a copy."

"You mean there's nobody there who can just flip numbers or undo whatever they did to begin with?"

"Not without documentation. Here, let me transfer you to my supervisor..." Her voice was quickly replaced by a muzak version of Barry Manilow.

Sam groaned and hung up the phone, and he flipped through the phone book to locate the nearest Social Security office. He should have done that to begin with, because how could anyone argue he was dead when he was obviously standing and talking right in front of them? Elsa was busy in a meeting, so he left a message with her assistant and hurried to his car. Familiar with how government could royally screw up the simplest things, Sam was determined that he would get this resolved before he did anything else. That meant no cruising with Elsa. He sighed, got into the car, and took off with a little more gas than necessary.

Driving toward downtown, Sam let the breeze and the ocean air calm him. He would need all the serenity he could get if the people at the SSA were as thick skulled as the lady on the phone. He heard a short burst of a siren and looked into the rearview mirror to see red and blue lights flashing at him.

"Aw man, what now?" He was doing the speed limit. He just installed the new plates on the brand new BMW Elsa gave him two weeks ago, so the registration was up to date. Sam had no idea what the problem could be. With a heavy sigh harmonizing with the wind, he signaled and pulled to the side of the road and readied his license and registration for when the cop approached. Still, he kept his eye on the officer as he sidled up to the driver's door. He could never be too careful. Working with Mike the past few years made him paranoid that way.

"License and registration, please, Sir," the cop said as he held out his hand. Sam placed the items in it. "Thank you."

"Was I speeding or something, Officer? I didn't think I was," Sam said, playing the innocent, which he was certain to be true.

"Are you really Sam Axe," the officer asked and squinted at the drivers license before eyeing Sam's profile.

"Yes, Sir, I am." He glanced upward at the officer. "Why? Is there a problem?"

"I was doing a random plate check, and... well, I hate to tell you this, Mr. Axe, but... you're supposed to be dead."

Sam's left eyebrow rose and he couldn't help but smirk. "Yeah, you're not the first person to tell me that today. As a matter of fact, I was on my way to try to get this worked out. Obviously, I'm not dead."

"And you sure don't look like a zombie," the officer cracked, his demeanor relaxing slightly. He gave the documents back to Sam and said, "I had a friend whose cousin went through that. His identity was stolen, and before it all got fixed, the government declared him dead."

"Oh, great. Thanks for the encouragement." Sam took the license and registration and dropped them onto the seat beside him.

"Mr. Axe, I'll have to ask you to step out of the car." The officer sounded apologetic, and he spread out his hands as if he had no choice. "I can't allow you to continue to drive with a suspended license."

"Suspended? Oh, come on, really?" Sam pressed his head back into the rest and closed his eyes. "This is getting worse by the minute."

"I'm sorry, Sir. When you're dead, the DMV suspends your license. There's nothing I can do about it."

"Yeah." Sam leaned out the open window and gave him a pleading look. "Can't you just give me a citation, or just forget the whole thing? I'm trying to go to the Social Security office and fix this mess right now. I tried over the phone, but that was useless. I figured that if they could see I'm breathing, maybe they'll reverse whatever they did."

The cop glanced around, thinking. Sam's phone rang. He ignored it and it rang again. The cop said, "You should probably get that. I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."

"Sure, no problem. I've got all the time in the world, since I'm supposedly dead." Sam picked up the phone from the console and barked, "What do you want, Fi? This is not a good time."

"Oooo, touchy touchy," Fiona responded. "Wake up on the wrong side of Elsa this morning?"

"Real funny, Fi. You and Elsa must have compared notes on jokes. I'm sorry, until I get this fiasco fixed, I'm not in the mood."

Fiona's teasing tone changed to concern. "What's wrong, Sam?"

He explained his situation to her in a few sentences. By then the cop returned to his window. "Look, Fi, I gotta go. The cop's on me for driving with a revoked license."

"Where are you? I can drop what I'm doing and I'll pick you up."

"Seriously?" He held up an index finger, a silent request for the officer to wait.

"Yes, Sam. I'll be right there to pick you up. Madeline can drive your car."

"But the plate's been revoked too, Fi." Sam exhaled sharply. "They'll probably tow it."

He made arrangements with Fiona to get him, and all the while he was amazed at her willingness to help. Over the past six years, their relationships with Mike brought them together and they bonded like a team, and Sam would even say that Fiona had become a very good friend. He never really knew how she felt about him, although Sam had to admit he hadn't exactly been up front with her, either. After Mike ran off to do the CIA's bidding, their paths crossed often, even if it was just to share a beer and unwind from a bad day. Maybe it was their own way of bonding to each other. Whatever the case, this was the baddest day ever, no doubt, and he hoped that Fiona's offer of a rescue was the turning point to making it better.

"I assume you've made arrangments for someone to pick you up," the officer said after Sam hung up.

"Yeah." Sam watched a tow truck swing around the two vehicles and park in front of the BMW. "I see you made arrangements, too."

"Yeah. I'm really sorry about this, Mr. Axe. I have to follow procedure."

"Hey, I was in the Navy. I know about protocol." Sam picked up his license, got out of the vehicle, and stuffed the now useless slip of plastic into his wallet.

"Mr. Axe, I'd suggest you go to the county records division and pick up your death certificate."

"But I'm not dead," Sam protested, poking his chest with his index finger. "See?"

The officer smiled. "I know. But they'll have a certificate on file. Most likely, someone entered an incorrect Social Security number in the system and whoever that was will have signed the certificate. You find that person, you know where to start cleaning up this mess."

Sam stared at him and believed by the officer's expression that he was trying to help. Nodding, he said, "Thanks. I'll do that." He saw a flash of red and heard the screech of tires as Fiona's little coupe pulled in and parked behind the police car. She slammed her door and flew to Sam's side.

"Are you okay," she asked, and behind the big lenses of her sunglasses, Sam had no doubt a fire raged in her eyes.

"I'm fine, Fi. They're hauling my car to the impound lot. Don't worry, I'll get it back."

Fiona harumphed and turned her disgust on the officer. "Was this your doing? How can you do this to a man who has been victimized by the government?"

Sam wondered if that was a blanket question regarding not just him, but Mike as well. Not that the cop had anything to do with it. She just got a little fiery sometimes and let reason fly out the window.

"Ma'am..."

"Oh, don't mind her," Sam said with a chuckle. "Fiona gets excited now and then when it seems like the establishment is messing with her friends." As he spoke, Sam grasped Fiona's upper arms at the shoulder and turned her toward her car. "Thanks for the ride, Fi. We've got some work to do now." He turned to the officer. "And thanks for your help. Now I don't feel like I'm treading water with no place to go."

"Good luck, Mr. Axe."

"Sam..."

"Fi," he cut her off and goose-stepped her to the car. "We're going to county records. Now. Before any other government agencies or my bank decides to make me a dead man."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Fiona barely had the car parked and Sam threw open the car door, and as he raced to the steps of the county records office, she ran on her high heeled wedge sandals to keep up. At least he hadn't forgotten his manners. He opened the door for Fiona and let her pass before entering. Their eyes swept the room and took in the long line. Sam let out a deep breath.

"We'll be here all day," he grumbled.

"Maybe everyone else's problems won't be so bad and the line will move fast," Fiona suggested as she stepped up to the end.

Sam fell in line with her and waited, his toe tapping on the tile floor, releasing the tension in his body. On the ride over he'd contemplated the implications of being dead. If he were Mike, he would probably see it as a blessing, a way to escape from his enemies and life as a spy, and he would reinvent himself. Fi would probably like it too, if he came home to her and settled in and tried to be normal. Only Sam couldn't imagine his friend ever adapting to that kind of life. He was an excitement junkie, pure and simple.

He'd had his days of intrigue and fight or flight, but Sam was in a different frame of mind. Ever since he landed in Miami after being given a discharge from the Navy, he was all about relaxing and having fun. Until Mike came along and he needed his help. As bad as things got, at least they all had each other. Someone crowded the line and Fiona's shoulder bumped into his chest. He felt a surge of gratefulness, because as much as he wished things hadn't turned out the way they did, he wouldn't take back any of it. Otherwise, he would probably be in the line by himself, left to stew in his anxiety alone.

"Next," a woman's voice called.

Fiona elbowed him. "That's us. See, that wasn't so bad," Fiona said with a smile as she led Sam to the desk.

An overweight woman in her 60s sat behind it looking like she was one step away from retirement, but she was going to have a good time getting there. She wore a bright, flowery dress that covered her ample frame, and her hair was cut short and dyed platinum blonde. Thinking she might be an easy one to sweet talk, Sam and Fiona took the chairs before her desk. The woman across from them smiled.

"Hello, my name is Tina. How can I help you folks today?"

Fiona and Sam glanced at each other, both recognizing that this was the woman who Madeline befriended to get some records for a case they worked several years ago. That didn't turn out as well as they hoped at first, but Mike engineered a break-in to save Tina's job. Now there they were, sitting in front of her and hoping that she didn't recognize them. Thankfully, they'd never met her face to face.

"Uh, yeah, my lady friend, um, not her." Sam tilted his head toward Fiona and licked his lips. "Uh... anyway, she got this in the mail today." He handed her the letter and the sheaf of papers as he released his nervousness in a chuckle. "But as you can see, I'm not dead."

"Hmm," Tina said, scanning the letter, her eyes flicking over the top of the paper to glance at Sam before returning to the words on the page. Finally, she set the pile on her desk, folded her hands over it, and asked, "Do you have a picture ID, Mr. Axe?"

"Yeah. Here's my drivers license, Social Security card, passport, discharge papers, and even my birth certificate. I figured I should bring everything."

Tina accepted the small stack and went through it within a few seconds. Her eyebrows raised at the military papers. "You served in the Navy. Very impressive, Commander." Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. The papers joined the ones already on her desk. "This is a more than adequate selection of documents to prove who you are, Mr. Axe. I'll need you to fill out this form before your death certificate can be released."

"And then what? How can I get it amended, destroyed, whatever it takes to make me alive in the government's eyes?" His eyes locked on hers, pleading for her help.

"The copy of the death certificate is where you want to start. Then you'll have to contact the person who signed it. That could be the coroner, or the funeral home manager. It all depends on where you were... I mean, where you were supposedly taken and declared dead." Her cheeks reddened. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Axe. I've never seen anything like this before, and I've been in records for a long time."

"Thanks for your help," Sam said with a smile that conveyed that he didn't hold any of this against her.

"You can just fill that out right here," Tina said with a smile of sympathy. "I'm sure it won't take but a minute or two."

While Sam filled out the form, Tina worked on her computer. She was right, there wasn't much to the form asking for a death certificate. When he finished, he gave it to her and she entered it into the computer.

As she clicked on the last key, Tina said, "There, I've submitted the paperwork. Now, I'll get that copy for you. Excuse me for a minute." She rose from her chair and it squeaked as if in relief from her weight pressing on it all day.

"Well, that wasn't too bad," Sam said. He glanced at the controlled chaos on Tina's desk and stopped on a photo of her with Madeline at the beach. They were both grinning despite the matching sunburns. "I wonder if she still keeps in touch with Maddie," he muttered.

"It doesn't matter. She's helping us," Fiona countered. Her eyes locked on Tina as the older woman returned to her desk.

She sat and let out a breath. "That was easy to find," she said with a grin and a soft chuckle. "The more recent deaths are kept in a folder until we get enough of them and then they're bound in a book."

"So it was just done," Sam asked as a cold, creeping tingle ran up his spine. He just couldn't get used to the idea that he was dead. Supposedly dead, anyway.

"Last week," Tina replied, and she handed Sam the copy. "It was signed by the coroner, Jim Mancuso."

"Where can we find this guy?" Sam held back the eagerness in his voice. Part of him wanted to race to the man's office and wring his neck. The other part wanted to be reasonable and get to the root of how this mistake occurred.

"He's at City Hall, if he's not out investigating a death," Tina replied with a smile. She scooped up Sam's documents and handed them to him, and he placed the death certificate on top.

Sam smiled, rose from his seat and said, "Thanks, Tina. I really appreciate your help."

"You're welcome. If you need anything else, just let me know." Her smile widened, her left eye either twitched or winked. Sam wasn't sure which until she added, "And if you see Maddie, tell her I'd love to see her grandson one of these days."

"You know who we are," Fiona said, frozen to the floor with her astonishment.

"Of course. Maddie talks about you all so much, I feel like I know you." Tina grinned and moved her hands in a shooing motion. "Now, you two better get going and find out who falsely reported you dead, Mr. Axe." She lowered her voice and said, "I wasn't supposed to give you that paper so quickly, but I did it as a favor. So you better be off, and good luck! Happy hunting!"

As they left the office, Sam clutched the papers to his chest to protect them from a breeze that kicked up, and his mind was foggy from what had just happened. He turned and saw that Tina was already on to the next citizen needing help, intent on the man and not watching him and Fiona leave.

"I really thought if she knew us, there might be a snag," Fiona muttered.

"Me too."

"Maybe it's a sign?" Fiona beamed at him. "Maybe we'll get this all cleared up before the end of the day?"

"That would be pushing our good fortune, Fi. Let's just take it one step at a time. Next stop, City Hall, and hopefully this joker is there and I get over the urge to throttle him for what he did to me."

Fiona got into the driver's seat and turned to Sam. "Have you ever given any thought that this might be some kind of operation?"

"What do you mean?" Sam turned to her, puzzled.

"What if the CIA is trying to put you into a position where you can more easily go underground and help Michael?"

Sam chuckled, the sound increasing and sounding somber in the confined space. "There is no way in hell I would work for them. They know that, Fi." He shook his head. "Uh uh, no way at all."

"Not even for Michael?" Her eyes pierced him over the rims of her sunglasses.

"If it was Mike's life at stake, you know the answer to that one, Fi. But if they wanna jerk me around like they do Mike, they've got another think coming." He swallowed back the lump of pain he felt for his friend. They hadn't heard from him in months and had no idea if he was even still alive. "Maybe they faked Mike's death, too... no, they would have contacted Maddie, and you and I would have known from her. No, I'm pretty convinced this has nothing to do with the CIA."

Fiona sighed. "If only Michael had gotten this notice. Then he could have escaped the CIA and taken on a new identity, and we could have lived happily ever after."

"I'm sorry, Fi."

She sniffed, turned away, and swiped at the wetness behind her glasses. "It doesn't matter, Sam. Michael made his choice and it wasn't me... us. Let's get to City Hall."

He'd tried to make her understand that Mike didn't break his promise to her on purpose. There was more at risk here than she knew, and her hardened heart wouldn't listen. Still, she loved Mike. Sam knew that to the deepest part of him. She tried to not mention him, but whenever they were together or with Jesse, it was inevitable that he would be mentioned. Then the old memories and stories would flow like the beer at their little gatherings, and later Fiona would slink off to mourn her loss all over again. He ached for her. Yet he couldn't help but think that if she understood, she would be able to deal with it.

Once inside City Hall, it didn't take much to find the coroner's office. The man was in his 30s, energetic, and conscientious about every case. Jim Mancuso was working on some notes while a body bearing the scars of his work lay on the metal table, sewn up and staring blankly at the ceiling. Sam knocked on the swinging doors to get his attention, and he nodded and approached the doors.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah. We need to talk," Sam said and jerked his head toward the open office to his right.

"Sure. Must be urgent, by that tone in your voice." Mancuso slipped past Sam and Fiona, leaving a wafting trail of the scent of death hanging in the air, a mixture of blood and formaldehyde that never failed to turn up the nose and stomachs of those not acclimated to it.

When everyone was seated in the office, which to their surprise smelled of an exotic spicy scent that conjured up images of India, Sam pulled the death certificate from the pile of papers in his folder and slapped it on the desk. "You signed this."

Mancuso scanned the form and eyed his signature at the bottom. "Yes, I did. And your point is?"

"Look at me. Do I look dead to you?"

Mancuso studied Sam, and a slight smirk tipped up the corner of his mouth. "You look very much alive. Sam Axe. I'm sorry I don't recognize you. I have a tendency to not forget a face that comes through here." The smirk turned into a sad smile. "It's a hazard of my job."

"So what you're saying is you signed this even though I never graced your table," Sam declared with a carefully controlled sneer threatening to bust out across his face. "Where I come from, falsifying records is illegal, pal."

"Yes, it is," Mancuso agreed. His eyes locked on Sam's with equal ferociousness as he continued. "You didn't let me finish. Sometimes I have people come in here who are so... damaged... that the only way to identify them is through dental records or other means."

"What happened to this man," Fiona asked. She took the certificate and scanned it. "It says here his death was due to severe trauma from a car accident."

"Yes, I remember that one. Let me pull my files." Mancuso went to a bank of old, ugly green file cabinets and opened the top drawer. He flicked through them, found the folder he sought, and pulled it. He shut the drawer and returned to the desk. "Here we go, the notes from my autopsy on Sam Axe... or who appeared to be Sam Axe."

Mancuso shared his file with them, even though he was most likely breaking regulations. The thought of having mis-identified a deceased person shook him. It happened now and then, but it never got any easier. Having a live person come in and report the mistake of his untimely demise was a new one, though. The sooner he rectified the situation, the better for everyone.

"It was a fiery crash," Mancuso told them. "According to the police report, John Doe's car was hit by a tanker on the freeway, crushed between the tank and the guard rail. He didn't stand a chance." He shook his head.

Sam appreciated that he didn't call the victim by his name, and his animosity toward the coroner faded away. "So he was burned to death, pretty much?"

"Yeah. Granted, he had a lot of serious internal injuries, and those probably would have killed him if the fire hadn't gotten to him first."

"Someone wanted to make sure this guy took my place," Sam declared and clenched his teeth on the fifth stick of gum he'd consumed that day.

"But why? And who would do this," Fiona asked. "It doesn't make any sense."

"I'm sorry I can't tell you that, Ms," Mancuso said. "All I can do is show you what I have. Here's a copy of the dental records I used to determine the identity." He handed Sam the few sheets of paper from his folder. "There weren't many clothes left, but what I found was similar to what you're wearing, Mr. Axe. The corpse had a watch, a nice one. He wore this jewelry." Mancuso held up a baggie that contained a mangled and melted chain, bracelet and ring. Intact, they would have looked almost exactly like Sam's.

"These aren't my records," Sam said when he tore his eyes away from the baggie and studied the dental files. "I had a crown put in to replace this molar, and look, there's no mention of that in here." He tapped an x-ray of the subject's teeth. "And that looks like a natural tooth, not a crown."

"Let me see." Mancuso leaned across the desk and Sam stood and opened his mouth. The coroner squinted, nodding and making noises of agreement. With a heavy sigh, he dropped into his chair, looked up at Sam, and said, "There's no doubt about it. The inside of your mouth looks nothing like what I have in my notes." He sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, Mr. Axe. Somehow, I signed off on the wrong man."

"Well, I'm glad we all agree on that." Sam smiled and took his seat. "Now can we get this erased so I can go back to my normal life?"

"It's not that easy." Mancuso sat back and spread out his hands in resignation. "Someone wants you dead, and if I change this, there'll be paperwork and attention... things might get worse before they get better."

Sam muttered a curse. Aloud, he said, "I was afraid you'd say that."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Not even lunch at Carlito's could seem to get Sam's mood out of the dumps. He ordered iced tea, which told Fiona that he was disturbed, but she didn't need to hear his order to know. It sometimes scared her how well she knew Sam, almost as well as Michael, but that day she was seeing him in a state of depression like she'd never seen in him before. He was tired of the spy games and how unsettled life had become. So was she. But the concept of someone having the power to wipe out your existence on paper was a new, demoralizing twist. Other than finding a solution, there was nothing she could do. If only Jesse would get there. He might have some ideas or connections to help right Sam's world again. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Jesse walking up the sidewalk and heading their way, and she put on a smile of hope.

"Hey, people, what's shakin'," Jesse greeted them with a cheerful smile. One look at Sam slumped in his chair and staring at the papers on the table before him was enough to give him an answer. "Okay, whatever the problem is, it can't be that bad, can it?"

Fiona glanced at Sam and watched Jesse sit across from him. "Sam's dead."

"Well, he looks like he's kind of depressed, but..." Jesse studied Sam, who gave Fiona a critical eye.

"He's not actually dead," Fiona huffed. She explained the situation, and as she showed him the death certificate and related the morning's activities, Jesse's eyes widened as he took in the seriousness of the course of events.

"Wow. So who would want you dead, Sammy?"

"I don't know. Right now I just wanna get this fixed. Before you got here, I called my bank. All my assets are frozen until I can prove I'm alive," Sam replied and moped even more, supporting his head with a propped up fist.

"I don't know what you're worried about, Sam. I'm sure Elsa will spot you a twenty or so," Fiona said with a smirk. She was trying to poke him out of his doldrums, but her remark rewarded her with an icy glare. Chastised, Fiona switched gears and leaned forward, smiling and patting his hand on the table. "It's okay, we will get this worked out, you know, without Michael's help." The chilly tone of her voice was a sign of some festering emotions. Sam and Jesse knew how devastated Fiona was when Michael took off with the CIA, and as time passed, her anger manifested itself at the most inopportune times, like when someone else suffered an injustice.

"You know, I could do some checking on this accident that claimed our John Doe," Jesse volunteered. "I can look into your past, Sam, and see if there's anyone there who might have a reason to do this to you."

"I appreciate that, Jesse. Right now all I can think about is trying to get my life back." Sam took a sip of his tea.

"Jim is working on that," Fiona assured him. To Jesse, she said, "The city coroner, Jim Mancuso, is working on his end to have the death certificate nullified. After that, it should be pretty simple getting Sam back in the system as alive."

"Great. So we just have to figure out the who and the why," Jesse exclaimed with a smile.

"If someone did this to go after Sam, it could get dangerous," Fiona warned.

Jesse scoffed. "Like I'm not used to that? Hanging with you guys on a good day is hazardous enough." He chuckled as the server brought a plate of nachos to the table, the cheese dribbling off the edge of the platter. Pointing to it, he said, "See what I mean? That's a heart attack waiting to happen."

"And you're going to help us eat it, aren't you," Fiona retorted with a smirk.

"Damn right," Jesse replied and grabbed a chip laden with meat, cheese, and peppers. "Oh yeah, this'll clear the sinuses."

Sam picked at the appetizer and ate only part of his Cuban sandwich while Jesse interrogated him about his past and forced him to dig deep to see if there was someone who might have something against him. A lot of memories came flooding back, but nothing that he thought was useful. Still, he told Jesse what he could.

"Don't worry about it," Jesse said as he pulled out his wallet. "I'll go back to the office and see what I can find. Sam, you and Elsa should just get away for a few days, let me and Fi take care of this. There's not much you can do until the coroner does his part, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose." The more he thought about it, the more downtrodden he became. "Trouble is, Elsa is leaving for a four day trip to Vancouver, and I was planning on going along. Now, without a valid passport, I'm stuck here."

"Well, maybe you can give Virgil a call and see if he'll come from the Bahamas and hang out," Jesse suggested with a hopeful raise of his eyebrows. "Just keep him away from Maddie and you won't have to worry about Mike wanting to kill you."

"Oh, thanks, pal. That's a nice thought there," Sam protested, but the joke did its work. A crack of a smile appeared on his lips. "You guys, just don't worry about me. Somehow, I'll get used to the idea of being the client for once."

Sam took his leftovers, said goodbye to Jesse and Fiona, and walked to the hotel by himself. Fiona gave him a hug, which he wasn't expecting, and he felt the love and concern in it. He gave her a quick squeeze of silent assurance that he would be okay. Jesse promised they would get to the bottom of it. He trusted them both with his life, literally, so he should have felt better about walking away and leaving his problem at their feet.

Maybe it was the idea of being powerless that rubbed him the wrong way. The dead don't care, but Sam was alive and breathing for real, and as he walked through the sea of humanity lounging in the open cafes, sipping drinks, eating, enjoying life, Sam was in a frame of mind that made it easy to feel sorry for himself. As he walked to the hotel and watched the people around him living life and enjoying the day, he felt invisible. What if he really did die? Would anyone really care? Outside of Elsa, Fi, Jesse, Maddie, and maybe Mike if he found out, really, who would do more than blink at his obituary in the paper? His ex-wife wouldn't, that was for sure. She might even be happy, although he hadn't contacted her in years until he finally went through the process of getting a divorce from her. That alone was an operation worthy of calling in favors to some of his contacts in the government. Those same resources for intel would probably be relieved that he wouldn't be calling them anymore. Dixon came to mind and he smirked, but the gloom of not being remembered by more than a handful of people came down on his shoulders heavier than the humidity in the air.

Before he could drag himself down into a real pity party, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and didn't recognize the number, but he answered it anyway. Maybe someone was calling with a job. "It's Sam."

"Mr. Axe, it's Jim Mancuso." He hesitated. "I'm sorry. When you were in here with your friend and I showed you the file, I'm afraid you didn't see everything."

"What do you mean?" Sam halted in front of a shop window. "What weren't you telling us?"

"It's not that I didn't tell you everything. I did. I discovered that a bag of evidence wasn't placed in the file." He let out a breath of annoyance. "My assistant left it in a bin to be filed later. It was properly bagged and tagged, but never put away."

"Well, what is it? What's in the bag?"

"The remnants of clothing, the watch I told you about, and a set of dog tags."

"Dog tags? I never wear mine, not since I left the Navy."

Mancuso let out a breath. "The tags have your name on them, your Social... um, what's your blood type?"

"O negative. And it should read that I'm Catholic, or at least I used to be. Crap, those tags are the same, aren't they." Sam picked up his pace toward the hotel. "I'm on my way to where I live right now..." A dreadful sinking feeling took over in his stomach. What if someone broke into the penthouse and stole them? A thought came to mind, and he asked, "Hey, is there by any chance a dent in one of those tags?"

"No." Mancuso paused a moment while he studied the dog tags. "Come to think of it, they look like they're in mint condition. Why?"

"Well then," Sam breathed. "They aren't mine. One of my tags had a ding in it from when I was almost shot with a twenty-two."

"A twenty-two?" Mancuso sounded doubtful.

"It was on shore leave. Don't ask." Sam let out a sigh and released some tension. Finally they had something that his enemy didn't have.

"Okay. Well, like I said, there's nothing wrong with these other than being a little soot covered. So it seems to me that someone was trying to fake your death and use these as proof. Only thing is, when I do my investigation, I don't take something like this as evidence that this is the same guy lying on my table. Whoever did this was sloppy."

"Sloppy or desperate. My friends are working on this with me, but I might need to get back to you on this, so..."

Mancuso interrupted him, his voice tense but eager. "Oh, by all means give me a call! Not very often that I get a real mystery surrounding one of the corpses that comes through my office. If you need any assistance, just let me know."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Sam neared the entrance to the hotel, said goodbye to Mancuso, and made a straight line for the elevators.

"Sam. Sam!"

He was so focused on his task that he didn't hear Elsa calling after him until he reached the elevator and punched the button to call the car. She touched his shoulder and he whirled, his hand going for the sidearm he had hidden under his shirt. Elsa's eyes grew wide and she backed off, but she didn't hold the action against him. She would be just as upset if someone had been doing this to her. The hard look in his eyes softened and he reached out a hand for hers.

Putting on a false smile of reassurance, he asked, "What's up, Baby?"

"I was hoping you'd have good news," she said. "We were supposed to go sailing this afternoon, remember?"

"Yeah." The word came out on an exhale. "I don't think that's gonna happen today, sweetheart. I have to go upstairs and find my dog tags."

"Your dog tags?" She tilted her head, puzzled. "That's easy, they're in your jewelry box."

He knew her too well to ask. Instead, he smiled and squeezed her hand. The elevator arrived, dinging, and the door opened. He let the people inside get out while he tugged Elsa's hand in a subtle gesture of invitation. She smiled and stepped forward with him into the elevator. He would find the tags, reassure himself that no one had taken them, and then Elsa could do her magic and make him feel more alive than he had since he woke up that morning and discovered that he was dead.

Sam led the way to the bedroom, but at the moment the last thought on his mind was Sammy time. He and Elsa closed in on the teakwood box whose top was covered with intricate carvings. He picked it up years ago in a port in Southeast Asia, and after all these years it still looked like it did the day he bought it. He snapped open the cover and the drawer inside swung open with the cover. Beneath it, a removable tray slid out to reveal the only piece of jewelry he kept there. The dog tags. Sam set aside the tray and pulled out the dog tags. Beside him, Elsa let out a soft breath.

"There they are, just like I said."

"Yes, and they're definitely mine," he added as he held up the chain so the tags twisted in the light. The dent in the one tag was clearly visible. Satisfied, he nodded and let the tags down to the red velvet, barely making a sound, and the chain dribbled around them.

"I don't understand what was so important about the tags," Elsa said.

"Someone replicated them, and whoever did it would have had access to my military records. Or they knew me well enough back in the day to remember what my tags read." Sam chewed on his bottom lip in concentration. "I've gotta call Jesse and let him know what I found." He turned toward Elsa, and he looked into her eyes and saw the deep worry in them. He smiled, pulled her into an embrace, and ran his hands over her back as he held her tight in his arms. When he pulled away, he said, "Don't worry, Baby. Just a quick phone call, and then you and I are going to have a fantastic afternoon together. I promise." He kissed her lips as a quick guarantee before leaving the room to call Jesse.

Elsa stayed behind and placed the tray back into the jewelry box. Something caught her eye. Over the past few years she'd given Sam a lot of gifts, many of them jewelry. Still, he seemed inclined to wear the chain, bracelet and pinky ring almost all the time. When she asked why, he was evasive and continued to wear them. On occasion, when they dressed up to go somewhere, he would break out the really nice things she'd given him.

She had a head for remembering everything she bought him, and now, as she made a mental inventory of what the tray held, it hit her like a two-by-four to the head that something was wrong. The ring, similar to the one he wore every day, was missing. Her eyes pored over every partitioned space, and the fancier bracelet and a matching chain were also gone. Chills ran up her spine. Someone besides the cleaning crew had been in their place and taken them. Elsa gasped, realizing that the culprit's fingerprints were probably all over the jewelry box and now she'd ruined them.

"Hey, are you okay," Sam asked, poking his head in the room.

Elsa blinked and turned to him, her face frozen into a horrified expression. "They're gone. The ring with the onyx stone, and the laser-cut bracelet and chain I gave you for Christmas last year. They're not here. Someone's taken them and I just ruined any fingerprint evidence that might have been left behind!"

"Oh, hey, it's okay." Sam's soft tone worked to soothe her agitation, and his arms did the rest. "There might still be some partial prints, but my guess is that this person is a pro, and they didn't leave anything behind."

"We should call the police..."

"No, we don't need the cops involved just yet." Sam pulled away and asked, "Can you get me your face powder?"

"My face powder? What do you want with that?"

"And one of those fluffy brushes you use to put it on. Trust me." He kissed her, turned and hurried out of the room. By the time Elsa produced her face powder and brush, Sam was back with some clear tape. "Thanks, hon."

Sam took the items from her, lay everything on the dressing table, and went to work applying the face powder to the jewelry box. He used quite a bit on the interior and exterior, enough for Elsa to stand with hands folded and her teeth working at her bottom lip.

"That powder is expensive, Sam."

He turned his head and glanced up at her. "Doesn't it matter to you that my life could be at stake here?"

"Of course it matters!" She gaped, surprised that he could even ask such a thing. "Sammy, you know that I love you, and I would do anything to help catch whoever is doing this."

"I thought so." The corner of his mouth tipped up into a smile. Then he went back to his work. After a few minutes he let out a deep breath and straightened, arching his back after being bent over for so long.

"What is it? Did you find something?" Elsa stood at his elbow, staring at the dusty box and wishing it would give up its secret.

"There are tons of prints on this thing, and I've taken a nice sample of them," Sam answered as he held up several examples. He captured the prints by picking up the powder on the tape and sealing them in with tape on the other side. They could easily examine them in the light coming from the floor to ceiling windows. "Now we'll need our prints to rule them out from this sampling."

He still had two sets of prints that he couldn't identify after he and Elsa made a set of their own. "Those must be the criminal's prints," Elsa exclaimed, fighting back the giddiness she felt helping Sam with his case.

"Maybe, maybe not. This set came from inside, and unless the ladies in housekeeping are pilfering our jewelry, these most likely belong to the person we're looking for."

Elsa learned that crime investigation wasn't as easy as they made it look on television. It took Sam the better part of an afternoon to determine that the prints inside did in fact come from one of the cleaning staff. He interviewed her and she admitted that she only put back a few items that Sam had left on the bathroom vanity one time. Knowing little more than when he started, Sam returned to the penthouse to tell Elsa the news. He wasn't planning on walking in and finding her neck deep in the private hot tub on the balcony. She smiled up at him, but as soon as she saw the grave look on his face, the expression faded.

"No luck, I take it."

Sam shook his head and exhaled as he replied, "None."

"Well then, I think you need this even more now," Elsa purred as she slipped to the edge of the hot tub that was closest to him, reached out, and tugged on the hem of his shirt. "Come on in, the water's really nice." He hesitated, and Elsa ran her hand up his inseam, a saucy smirk on her face.

Elsa knew how to push his buttons. Unlike his friend Mike, he didn't have the ability to turn off the attraction when Elsa turned on the charm when he was in the middle of something. He smiled, slow and lazy, as he stripped off his shirt. Piece by piece the clothing dropped to the decking. He had nothing to fear about being seen, because a privacy screen kept out prying eyes. He stepped over the short wall and the swirling, bubbling water kneaded his calf.

"Oh yeah, that's just what I needed." He laughed and immersed himself. He took the mojito glass Elsa handed him, sipped, and slid into place beside her on the seat. His free arm went around her and he was pleased to discover that she wasn't wearing anything either. After reporting to Fi and Jesse what he discovered, and coming back to Elsa in the hot tub, he sensed all his anxiety slipping from his shoulders the moment Elsa kissed him. He had a feeling he was in for a great ending to his afternoon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

While Sam worked away the tension, Jesse and Fiona looked for clues. Jesse pored over the details in the file on the dead man. Whoever engineered his demise did a thorough job and left nothing with which to identify him. The dental records were it, and they didn't match what he obtained from Sam's dentist under the guise of Detective Virgil Tibbs, Miami PD. It appeared that they might never get their answers. Jesse called Sam that night to report his findings, and Sam told him about the jewelry box and fingerprints. He went over to the hotel to pick them up.

"The lab at my firm can take a look at these and hopefully ID everyone who touched that box," Jesse declared. "I talked to Fi, and she's been working with Mancuso to look for something in the evidence he collected from the body. Maybe something will turn up."

"Yeah." The sigh Sam emitted was a sign of his discouragement. "Is he working on nullifying the death certificate?"

"I'm not sure he's convinced yet," Jesse replied and flashed an encouraging smile. "If it'll make you feel any better, I called Virgil. I told him what was going on, and he said he had a few things to pick up at his property and then he'd be in Miami in no time."

"Thanks, Jess. You didn't have to do that."

"Well, I was hoping he might have something that could help our case, to at least prove who you really are. I gave Mancuso your dental and medical records, so I think by morning he'll probably have an order in to rescind the death certificate." Jesse smiled, his face radiating his happiness for his friend. "You'll be alive again in no time, Sammy."

Sam released a soft snort of laughter. "I hope so. I've been thinking about what it would be like to be really dead. I wondered who would care. Who would show up to my funeral?"

The smile wiped off of Jesse's face and he snapped his fingers. "Sammy, you just gave me an idea."

"What?"

"Let's put together a funeral. I'll write up an obit, mention in it that the funeral will be on, oh, Tuesday or something, and we see who shows up."

"Jesse, you don't have to do that just for my curiosity," Sam admonished him.

"No, man, you don't get it." He led Sam to the couches situated in an l-shape and urged him to sit on one while he took the other. "Listen to this. We'll make you dead and conduct a funeral for real."

"Huh?" Sam looked at Jesse as if he'd lost it. "That doesn't make any sense. Whoever worked this hard to make it look like I was dead has to know that I'm really still alive. They might even be trying to figure out how to do me in for real."

"Yes, but if we make it look like you really died, our suspect will show up to make sure. When he does, we nab him." Jesse sat back and rested his arms on the couch. "It's simple."

"Too simple." Sam fidgeted on the comfortable couch. "How are you gonna know who the suspect is? I'd like to think that more than a half dozen people will show up for my last hurrah."

"True, but I know we can make this work. I have a friend who works at the Herald. I can have him write up an article about you having an accident." Jesse's face lit up and he grinned. "Yeah, Virgil couldn't have come at a better time. I've got the perfect plan."

As Jesse revealed the details, at first Sam thought he was crazy. It was intricate, yet easy, and he feared that it was too unbelievable to be believed. But as it unfolded, he began to see the potential. He contributed ideas and before long the two had hammered out a scenario.

"Alright, if you're good with this, I'll talk to Virgil. He should be in port by now," Jesse said as he glanced at his watch.

"I can talk to him," Sam volunteered. "I'll call and ask if he wants to go fishing tomorrow. When we're on the boat, I'll tell him the plan. Maybe we can set it into motion right away."

"Good idea. Alrighty, then. I'll get with Mancuso, clue him into our plan, and I'm sure we'll get his cooperation." Jesse stood and Sam joined him. He clasped Sam's hand and said, "Don't worry. This'll work."

"I'm hoping it will. At the worst, if I survive, I guess I could use this as an excuse to change my identity to Chuck Finley." He grinned.

"That won't be necessary." Jesse's gaze bored into Sam's eyes as he vowed, "We'll get this straightened out and catch whoever did this to you. If this doesn't work, we'll try something else."

"It has to work. I don't know if somebody can be declared dead more than once, much less twice, and live to tell about it." He smirked. "I'll talk to you later, Jess."

"Yeah. Take care, Sammy. Be careful out there."

"I will." He heard the door clicking and Elsa came into the suite. "Hi, Baby. How'd that meeting go?"

She sighed and dropped her briefcase near the closet by the door as she closed the door behind her. "It was okay. I'll be glad to get up to Vancouver and talk to them in person. Hi, Jesse. Any progress with Sam's case?" She stopped before the two men with a hopeful smile aimed at Jesse.

"We're working on it. Maybe by the time you get back, it'll be over," Jesse responded. He glanced at Sam, wondering if he would tell Elsa everything. By the serious expression on Sam's face and the slight shake of his head, Jesse doubted it. Maybe it was better that way, so Elsa could go off on her trip and not worry about Sam.

"Good luck you two," Elsa said and stifled a yawn behind her hand. "I have to get some shut-eye. My flight leaves at six thirty tomorrow morning."

"Have a safe journey, Elsa. I'll see you later. And Sammy, I'll keep in touch."

"Thanks, Jess. I'll see you later." He escorted Jesse to the door and spoke soft so Elsa couldn't hear. "I don't want Elsa to know what we're doing. She doesn't need to be worrying about me anymore than she already is. Got it?"

"Of course. My lips are sealed," Jesse replied and winked before slipping through the door.

Sam didn't sleep very well that night, plagued with guilt for not telling Elsa about their plan and letting her leave without knowing. He tossed and turned and kept her awake as well. The only time he had any relief was when she wrapped her arms around him from behind.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy. Your friends will find a solution to this, and I'm sure by the time I get home, everything will be back to normal." She kissed his back and rubbed it until he seemed to fall asleep.

Sam hoped that she was right. He wrestled with the idea of warning her that she might get a phone call about his death, and that she shouldn't be alarmed. He considered making sure that no one contacted her, but if she arrived home early, she would be in for a huge shock. In the early hours of the morning, Elsa shifted and slipped to the edge of the bed. Sam turned and snagged her waist, bringing her back to press against him.

Elsa giggled and tried to push his arm away. "Sammy, I have to get ready to go."

"Elsa, please stay for a minute. I have to tell you something."

Sam couldn't let her go without letting her know about their plan, and as he gave her the details her reaction told him that he'd done the right thing. She wasn't pleased, but she thanked him for being up front.

Elsa framed his face with her hands and spoke, looking into the shadows where his eyes were. "Sweetheart, I'm glad you told me what you're planning. If someone were to call me while I was away, I would have been devastated, only to come flying back home to find you still alive... I would have smacked you for worrying me like that."

"That's why I decided to tell you." He pulled her close and kissed her. "I couldn't do that to you. And the more I thought about this, the more I realized that if something really did happen to me, our last goodbye..." His voice cracked at the impact those words made on his soul. "If there's a chance I could regret something for eternity, that would be it." He buried his face in her hair, breathed in the mixture of its flowery scent and her skin. "I don't want us to end that way. I love you too much."

"I love you too, Sammy." She caressed his cheek and said, "I know I spend a lot of time working and don't give you the attention you deserve, but I really do love you. I cherish you."

"I know, and it's the best feeling in the world to have that." He kissed her long and hard, and by the time he finished loving her, Elsa was running late getting to her plane. Fortunately, she wasn't flying commercial.

Sam tried to get some rest after Elsa left, because if he planned on being on the ocean that day with Virgil, he needed it. The sea air and sun had a way of sapping the energy out of a body. He supposed that it wouldn't really matter. If everything went according to Jesse's orchestrations, he would have time to relax until the big trap snapped on their suspect.

The phone on the night stand rang, waking Sam from a deep sleep. He groaned and rolled to grab it, and moaned, "Yeah."

"Mr. Axe, it's William at the front desk. There's a, um, gentleman here to see you."

Sam's eyes opened and he glanced at the clock. It was after nine. Virgil was supposed to be at the hotel at eight. "What's his name?"

"One moment, Sir."

In the background, Sam heard the familiar, slightly gravelly voice of his buddy Virgil. He smiled, imagining him standing in the lobby in his droopy shorts and wrinkled Hawaiian shirt, with flip flops on his feet and scruff on his face, smelling of salt and fish.

"His name is Virgil Watkins, Mr. Axe."

Sam chuckled. "I thought so. Send him up and have the doorman let him in. I'm still getting myself together."

"Certainly, Sir."

After he got off the phone, Sam sprung out of bed like a Jack-in-the-box and headed for a quick shower. By the time he finished, brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his hair, Virgil had already made himself at home.

"Hey, Sammy, nice place you got here!" Virgil rose from the couch where he'd been sitting with his flip-flop shod feet on the glass coffee table. He met Sam in front of the breakfast bar and gave him a bear hug. "It sure is great to see you. Too bad it couldn't be under better circumstances."

"Thanks for coming, Virg." He returned the bear hug and released him, scanning him from head to toe. "Man, you haven't changed. I knew you'd show up looking like that."

"What? What's wrong with this?" Virgil glanced at his clothing. "These are my lucky fishing clothes! Guaranteed to catch me a barracuda!"

Sam laughed. "The only thing I want to catch is the person who wants to see me dead."

Virgil turned serious. "Don't worry about that. We'll go out, catch some fish like the old days, and then we'll stage the accident that's gonna put you in your grave, so to speak. Then you get to have all the fun and lay around while everybody else does the hard part." He slapped Sam on the back. "So let's go! Time's wastin'!"

One of the reasons that Sam joined the Navy was that he loved the water. He was a strong swimmer, loved to fish, and since he lived in Miami he tried some of the other water sports available. Today he was doing one of his favorite things, deep-sea fishing and hanging out with one of his best friends. They spent the rest of the morning and afternoon recalling events from the past that always seemed to get bigger and funnier as the years passed, playfully arguing about what was the truth. Ultimately, they wound up catching more tales than fish, but it didn't matter.

Sitting in his comfortable chair with his pole in the metal bracket until a fish bit his bait, Sam let out a contented sigh and turned his face toward the lowering sun. With a cold beer in one hand, he couldn't be happier and he almost forgot about his troubles until Virgil announced that it was time to go back to shore.

"We need to work out your demise, Sammy. I'm sorry."

"Well, if this was really my last day, I couldn't have spent it any better," Sam said with all seriousness. "I experienced the love of my lady and had some good times with my buddy. Who could ask for much more?" In reality, a pit of anxiety grew within his midsection. He supposed that this was how it felt when a man knew he was going to his execution in a short while. Only in Sam's case, he wasn't even going to get dinner before it happened.

All the way to shore he sat in the chair across from Virgil and stared ahead, and as Miami grew closer, the heaviness inside gnawed at him. To Virgil, he looked contemplative.

"Don't worry, Sammy. This'll all work out."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Sam yelled above the roar of the engine. "But what if I don't make it for real?"

"You're talking, crazy. Nobody knows about this but you, me, Jesse and Fiona. And your lady, Elsa."

"The coroner is in on it too, remember?" For a moment, a twinge of regret hit him. Jim had been so sincere in his desire to help. What if he was really in on the original plot?

"Are you sure that guy was trustworthy," Virgil asked.

The question twisted Sam's gut like a knife blow. "I'm betting my life that he is, Virg. But it's too late now. The plan is in motion." He jutted his chin toward the marina looming ever closer. "It's almost showtime."

"We can cancel this. Just give me the word and I'll call Jesse."

"No. I don't want to live with this over my head for one more day than I have to," Sam answered.

"Alright, then." Virgil turned away and gave the throttle a little more gas, and he turned the boat's bow toward the rocks that bordered the marina.

"Virgil," Sam warned.

"I know, Sammy. Hang on." Virgil heard a roaring motor in chorus with his as Sam shouted.

"Virg, port side!"

They turned to see a boat, a small yacht, really, heading full speed for the side of Virgil's boat. He reached for the throttle, but it was too late. The pointed front end slammed into the side of The Blue Marlin with a deafening crunch and grind, the force ripping into it like a chainsaw tearing through a narrow branch. The boat tilted and threw him and Sam into the water.

Virgil fought to break the surface, and when he got there he looked around in the fading light of dusk to see the back end of his boat sinking fast. The yacht skimmed past, and a man stood on deck with one hand on the rail and a semi-automatic pistol in the other. It exploded and a shot just missed Virgil. He took a deep breath and ducked under, swimming away from the yacht's path. He surfaced again and saw the stern disappearing out to sea. Its name was partially obscured by a towel hanging over the rail, but Virgil could make out part of it. That was all he needed to identify the yacht later, that and the Bahamian flag it was flying.

"Sam? Sammy?" Virgil propelled himself in a tight circle looking for his friend. "Sam! Sam!"

In the distance, he spotted something floating. Virgil pulled himself through the water as fast as he could, and he was close enough to identify Sam's shirt. He was floating face down. Virgil fought the urge to release a sob. Instead, he grabbed the collar of Sam's shirt and with all his strength flipped him onto his back. As he threaded an arm under Sam's, he pressed two fingers to his carotid. He sensed a pulse, not strong, but it was there. And he wasn't breathing. That's what worried Virgil more.

Virgil heard splashing and turned his head to see a small fishing boat churning up the water to make it to them. The driver cut the throttle to slide to a stop as he called out to his companions to drop anchor.

"Hey, we saw what happened. You guys okay?" The young man at the helm stared at Virgil and Sam. He quickly assessed that all was not well and ordered, "Truman, Briggs, fish 'em out. DeWitt, help get me get these guys on board."

Truman and Briggs dove into the water without hesitation and swam to Virgil's side. "You okay, Sir," Truman asked.

"I'm fine. I'm worried about Sam." One moment he had a tight hold on his friend, and in the next, the two younger men pulled Sam toward the boat. The leader and DeWitt pulled Sam onto the boat and laid him on the deck. While the woman began to work on getting him breathing again, the three men helped Virgil get out of the water.

The boat was crowded with all of them, but they weren't far from the marina. Virgil sat helpless on the bench seat while the woman referred to as DeWitt breathed into Sam. Briggs sat nearby on his heels, waiting to see if she needed assistance.

Virgil's chest tightened, and he realized that he was holding his breath. He let it out and tried not to dwell on the fact that Sam's worst fear had come true. If these young people weren't successful, Sam would really be dead and their plan was all for nothing. Virgil blamed himself. They should have figured out a safer way to fake Sam's death. The yacht was no accident, he was certain of it. Someone knew they would be out on the water and timed the collision perfectly. Whoever it was, they were done playing head games. This time it was for life or death.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Fiona burst out of the elevator and hurried down the hall to the room where Jesse said Sam was being kept. He'd been agitated when he called, giving her a third-hand account of what happened, punctuated by the news that Sam was in the hospital and nearly died. She never thought that hearing his name connected to that word would upset her so, but it did. She found the door open and barged in, and she discovered Jesse and Virgil keeping watch on either side of Sam's bed.

The lighting was subdued but it was enough to keep the evening at bay. A light on the wall behind Sam's head shone down on him, its starkness making him look as pale as if he were dead. She gasped, startling Jesse and Virgil.

"Fi," Jesse said as he met her at the foot of the bed. "He's okay. He wasn't breathing for awhile, but he wasn't drowning, thank God. He just got knocked out."

"Lucky for us some Navy cadets on leave were on their way out to do some night fishing, or Sammy and I would have been in deep trouble for sure," Virgil added.

"This wasn't part of the plan, was it," Fiona asked, anger rising inside her. "I knew this was too risky. It was foolhardy, and..."

Jesse held up a hand and laid it on her shoulder, squeezing it to make her stop. "No, this wasn't part of the plan. Someone found out, somehow, about what we were doing."

"That yacht collided with us on purpose," Virgil said. "No doubt about it."

"The only one who knew was Mancuso. That weasel, when I get my hands on him..." She spun for the door, but Jesse held her back.

"Hang on, we don't know for sure it was him." The expression on Jesse's face turned even more serious when he said, "You remember that the CIA had bugged Sam and Elsa's penthouse suite, right?"

"Of course. I'm sure Sam would never forget that betrayal." Fiona ground the words out. "I still can't believe that Michael would let them do that." She blew out a breath while Jesse waited for her to cool down, and she asked, "So what does that have to do with anything? You think the CIA was monitoring those bugs when you and Sam were talking about the plan? Did they have something to do with this?" Her ire rose to a boiling point again.

"Maybe not the CIA, but someone else who might have known about those bugs, got the frequency, and was able to listen in." Jesse led Fiona to the chair he was occupying before she entered the room and gently pushed her into it. "This is all assuming that Sam didn't sweep the place and rid it of listening devices."

"Oh my god," Fiona exclaimed softly and sat forward in the chair. She clasped her hands, because at the moment she felt like strangling someone, but only her friends were there. She was like a loaded gun that needed to be put on safety before anyone got hurt. "Jesse, what if whoever stole Sam's jewelry planted bugs at the same time?"

"Yeah, we never thought of that," Virgil said. "If that's the case, they heard everything probably. They knew where to be and when, and just waited for us to come into port."

"Someone is going to a hell of a lot of trouble to kill Sam," Jesse muttered.

"What I don't get is why they tried the fake his death first," Fiona mused aloud. "Why didn't they just kill him?"

"Maybe they wanted to put him in a position where he had nothing, and his only choice was to work with them," Virgil suggested. "Kinda like Mike when he got burned."

Virgil winced as bad memories of what he knew Mike and his friends had gone through for so long paraded through his mind. It wasn't finished, either. The spy was out there somewhere. A thought that was as cold and unpleasant as a chunk of ice ran down his back. What if Mike was setting up Sam to work with him? What had he gotten himself into that he couldn't just ask his friend to help? No, Virgil wouldn't believe he was capable of such a devilish plan. He kept his mouth shut and listened to Fiona and Jesse discuss their next move while he stayed by Sam's side and wished for him to awaken. Sam hadn't done so much as flutter an eyelash since he wound up in the water, and Virgil was getting worried.

Sam was hooked up to monitors and machines, but he was breathing on his own. That was a good thing. He was warm to the touch. If Virgil pressed into his skin hard enough, Sam would move the limb that Virgil gripped. But he wouldn't open his eyes.

After awhile, Fiona took up vigil on the other side. She pressed a hand to Sam's forehead, navigating around the bandage that covered a gash he received in the collision. She flipped a few strands of hair away from the gauze covering, her thumb massaging the skin as if she could remove the faint lines from his forehead. Sam emitted a soft moan.

"That's the first thing I've heard out of him since we brought him in," Virgil declared.

"He'll come around. It's just going to take some time, I would think." Fiona's voice was soft and tender, but underneath a slight vibration signaled her disguised anger. She patted the top of Sam's head with her fingers and pulled away, and she turned to Jesse and Virgil. "I'm going to go get a little rest, and in the morning I'll pay our friend Jim Mancuso a visit."

"Do you want me to go along, Fi," Jesse asked. He knew she didn't need him along, but he was more worried about what Fiona would do to the coroner than what Mancuso might do to her. She gave him a look that said she knew what he was thinking. "I'm just concerned, that's all."

"I'm not going to give the coroner any more business," she responded with hands on hips. "I just want him to think I am. Nothing works better than putting the fear of God into someone without hurting them." The grin on her face was cold, with no amusement in it. "Good night, boys. I'll call you tomorrow. And call me if... I mean, when Sam wakes up."

"You got it. Tomorrow I'm going to get things started with the rest of the plan," Jesse announced.

"You still want to go through with it," Virgil asked.

Fiona stopped and whirled to face them. "What better time? Sam is incapacitated now. If Jesse's friend gets an article out about the collision and notes that Sam died, everything will be perfect. Perhaps, by the time we're ready for the funeral, Sam will be able to participate."

"And not as the dead guy," Jesse added and cringed inside.

"Of course." The smile wiped off Fiona's face and she turned so fast her long locks flapped in the air around her departing figure.

"She sure is protective of the people she loves. God help anyone who gets in her way." Virgil observed and exhaled.

"No doubt." Jesse stifled a yawn and stretched. "Are you good here? I need to get over to the paper and talk to my buddy Chris. He's at work right now, so I can fill him in and he'll bang out that article for tomorrow's paper."

"Make it look good. Play up his service and all that," Virgil said with a smile. "I know Sammy would get a kick out of it."

"I have every intention of making it look good, because if someone with a conscience knows about what is going on, maybe they'll get guilt-tripped into turning in our perp." Jesse waved. "Night, Virgil. Call me if something comes up."

"I will." Virgil pulled the new burner cell phone from his pocket and waved it in the air. His old phone was destroyed when he and Sam took the unscripted dive.

Jesse used his fake credentials to get into the newsroom where he found his friend Christian Allee sitting at his computer. The slim, blonde, younger man was typing as if the devil was on his back, demanding that he meet a deadline. Jesse stopped at his desk and cleared his throat to get his attention. If he startled Chris, he knew he could get a pencil to the gut before he knew what happened. The guy was ex-Army, wired and tighter than a spring, if the four empty styrofoam cups on his desk were any indication.

"Jess, oh man, I wasn't expecting you to come here," Christian gasped as he looked up at Jesse. He motioned to the empty chair next to his desk. "Have a seat. I was just working on the article about the yacht/boat collision at the marina."

"You were?"

"Yeah." Christian smiled. "My editor put me on it. It's a hell of a lot more interesting than the burglary at the Miami Garden Club, that's for sure." His smile turned into a grin, and he turned the monitor so Jesse could see it. "Here, let me scroll up so you can read it."

Jesse's eyes pored over the words. His friend put a lot of attention to the details in it, and he must have interviewed some of the Naval academy students to get their side of the story. It was all quite dramatic and heartbreaking when the article mentioned that Sam Axe died of his injuries.

"Wow. I'm impressed. Where'd you get the stuff about Sam's military career?"

"A few keystrokes and some phone calls." Christian answered with a conspiratorial wink. "Mr. Axe has some friends in the Navy who were more than happy to tell me about him." He leaned closer and asked with concern written on his face, "He isn't really dead, though. Is he?"

Jesse glanced around the room littered with cubicles with waist-high walls. Only a couple other reporters sat at the opposite side of the large room, and the editor was in his glassed in office on the phone with someone. "No, he's not. But he hasn't come to yet, so there's no telling what might happen."

"Dang. Well, I'll be praying for him," Christian mumbled. He curled over the keyboard and tapped a few more keys. "Do you have any info on when the funeral will be? I'd like to write up a really nice bit about that." He straightened and looked over the screen at Jesse. "I assume he'll have a full-honors burial."

"Definitely. We're gonna make this look good." Jesse replied with a thin smile.

Christian chuckled. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Jesse related the details of what they already worked out. "The funeral will be three days from now, at Sunrise Gardens." He rose and stretched. "I've gotta go get some rest. I'm going to be busy the next couple of days arranging everything."

"I had to help my Mom do all that for my Dad. Prepare to be overwhelmed, but if you need any help, let me know." Christian waved at Jesse, who was half way to the door.

"Thanks. But I've got another friend who'll be there. Later."

* * *

Madeline Westen set the bowl of cereal on the table in front of Charlie and laid a spoon beside it. "Here you go, honey. You eat that all up now, and we'll go to the beach today, okay?"

"Okay, Gramma." Charlie smiled, showing his little white teeth before digging into his Fruity O's.

She smiled and ruffled his dark hair before continuing to the front door to answer the frantic knocking. After the events of the past three years, she now checked through the side window to see who was on the other side before opening the door, and she always kept a handgun ready, but out of Charlie's access, just in case. It was her neighbor, Laura. Madeline opened the door and grinned.

"Good morning, Laura. Is there something wrong?"

"I'm sorry to bother you right now, Maddie," the woman who was about Madeline's age responded as she examined Madeline's bathrobe and pajamas. "I know it's still early, but I had to show you the paper."

Madeline fought the urge to roll her eyes. Laura must have found a terrific sale or a high-stakes bingo game advertised and couldn't wait to show her. She released a quiet sigh and said, "Won't you come in? Would you like some coffee? It's brewing right now."

"Oh, thank you, you're too kind," Laura said as she slipped past Madeline, who stepped back to let the ample woman through.

Madeline closed the door and followed Laura to the dining room. "Have a seat, and I'll get you a cup."

By the time Madeline served her, Laura was about ready to burst. Her hands shook and she thanked Madeline before holding up the front section of the Miami Herald morning edition. "I know you don't get the early paper, so I had to bring it over. I remember this fella coming over to your house quite a bit, and, well, it's just so awful." A heavy, raspy sigh escaped her. "So terribly tragic."

Maddie took the paper, her brow creased in incomprehension. She unfolded it and stared at the headline that screamed in big letters, "Miami Council Deadlocked."

"No, that that story. It's at the bottom on the front page," Laura exclaimed at Madeline's increased puzzlement.

Madeline flipped the paper over and saw the headline in thick, black typeface stretched across three quarters of the bottom section. "Navy SEAL Killed In Yacht and Boat Collision." Madeline's breath sucked into her lungs as her eyes scanned the page. The article wasn't very long, and she began to mumble the words as she read it, as if voicing them would make it more real. She didn't want it to be. Maybe it was someone's idea of a sick joke.

"_Commander Sam Axe, USNA-Retired, a former Navy SEAL, loved to fish. Last evening, he was returning to Dinner Key Marina after a relaxing day trip with his friend Virgil Watkins when a large yacht plowed into Watkins' fishing vessel at a high rate of speed. The smaller boat didn't stand a chance, and it was ripped apart like a toy. Axe and Watkins, also a former Navy SEAL, were thrown from the vessel, and the yacht helmsman attempted to ride over them and kill both men. Watkins was able to summon assistance from a small contingent of Naval academy students out for a night fishing expedition. _

_'We couldn't believe what we saw,' Cadet Nathan Briggs told police. 'We were coming out of the marina and saw the yacht speed up. The man piloting it did it on purpose. There was no doubt in our minds.'_

_'The bow cut into Commander Watkins' boat like it was made of butter,' Cadet Oleta DeWitt related and described the experience of rescuing Axe and Watkins from the water. 'He (Commander Axe) was bleeding and not breathing when Briggs and I pulled him aboard with our colleagues' help. I immediately started rescue breathing.'_

_Unfortunately, the cadets' valiant efforts were in vain. Axe was severely injured and taken to Jackson Memorial, where he later died of his injuries. Police are seeking any information on a forty foot yacht with a fifteen foot beam flying a Bahamian flag. Watkins was able to get a partial name, 'Snapper', from the bow. Please call Miami police if you know anything about this vessel._

"_Axe served in the military for over 35 years before he was discharged. He received several commendations for bravery at the expense of his own life and safety throughout his career. As a SEAL he participated in and led many covert operations that contributed to preserving the continuing freedom we enjoy in this country. In recent years, he worked with a private agency to protect and serve those who found our overworked law enforcement less than willing to take on their case. Throughout the course of his life he saved many others, and his death will leave an empty gap in our community._

"_Funeral arrangements are pending, and will be announced in tomorrow's edition."_

Madeline reached the end straining to see the words through the tears. She dropped the paper on the table and wept, big fat tears dropping onto the newsprint and blurring the words. Charlie stopped eating, his mouth full of half chewed cereal, gaping at her.

"Gramma, wha's wrong," he asked around the mush in his mouth.

"Charlie, honey, finish your breakfast," Laura said with a soft but authoritative tone. She rose from her chair and moved around to Madeline's side, and she hugged her shoulders.

Charlie gulped his mouthful and asked, "What's wrong with Gramma?"

"She'll tell you later, sweetie. Why don't you go watch some cartoons or something? I think Barney is on."

The little boy wrinkled his nose. "I hate Barney. Looney Tunes! I want Looney Tunes!" He charged toward the living room, hands waving in the air, chanting the words. Not long after the dialogue and silly sound effects on the television could be heard, and Charlie was flipping through the channels.

Madeline sniffled. Laura found a box of tissues on the pass through between the dining room and kitchen, and she set it before Madeline, plucked one out, and handed it to her. "I'm so sorry, Maddie."

"Why... why didn't anyone call me," she asked behind the tissue. She blew her nose and swiped at the tears pouring down her cheeks. "Someone should have called." She glanced up at Laura. "I didn't even know Virgil was in town. He always contacts me when he is."

"Maybe they were up to something secret," Laura suggested. She didn't know much about Madeline's son and his friends, but she'd seen enough strange people hanging around and trying to attack her friend to know that she didn't want to know. It was probably safer for her that way.

"The article says that Sam and Virgil were out fishing." Madeline stabbed an index finger on the narrow white space next to Sam's photograph, a casual pose taken of him in recent years in civilian clothes. Her eyes focused on it, and she relaxed her finger and caressed the paper. "They must have gotten that picture from Elsa. I don't remember it."

"He was a very nice man, Maddie. Such a shame."

Laura stayed with Madeline and did what she could to comfort her, but there was a time when the tears wouldn't come anymore and the ache inside wouldn't go away. "Thanks for staying," Madeline said. "But I really need to get myself together. Charlie needs me. He needs me to... to stay calm." She shivered and got herself under control again.

"You'll call if you need anything, won't you?"

"Of course." Madeline nodded and a thin smile crossed her face. "Thank you."

"Oh, what are friends for?" Laura smiled and patted Madeline's hand. "I'll let you know what the paper says about the funeral date and time. In the meantime, I'll make a casserole or something and bring it over." Laura rose from the chair she pulled next to Madeline, slid it in its place at the table, and rubbed Madeline's shoulder before leaving without another word.

Madeline didn't want to move. She wanted to sit in her chair, smoke a pack of cigarettes, and wallow in her grief. Only she didn't have any in the house since she quit, and she had a little boy who needed her to keep it together. She would get him and herself dressed, and then she would burn up the phone lines trying to get some information from Jesse, Fiona, and most important, Virgil. The fact that no one contacted her to tell her first-hand bothered Madeline to the point of anger. She hoped there was a good reason, but they should have known better. After all she'd been through since Michael first came home after being burned, she was not some fragile flower. She'd grown and gotten stronger over the years. They knew that. She shouldn't have been kept out of the loop.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Fiona saw the front page of the newspaper and her stomach turned as she realized that in the rush they'd forgotten one thing. Maddie had no idea what was going on, and if she saw this article... Fiona didn't want to think about how upset she would be. Her plan was to head to the coroner's office, but she detoured to Maddie's house instead, and she picked up her phone and called Jesse.

"Hey, Fi. You talk to Mancuso yet? Need some backup?"

"No. We forgot to clue Maddie into our plan, Jesse," Fiona said, trying to keep her foot from pushing the gas pedal through the floor and holding the anxiety from her voice at the same time. "I'm heading over there right now, hoping she doesn't see the Herald before I arrive."

"Oh yeah." Jesse's voice was subdued. "It was a pretty good write-up, though, wasn't it? Didn't I tell you my friend Chris would come through?"

"Yes, it was lovely." Fiona was distracted as she squealed the tires in the turn and raced to the corner, almost doing a one-eighty in the next intersection before turning and screeching into Maddie's driveway. "I'll talk to you later and... wait... maybe you better come over here now. Is Virgil with Sam?"

"I think so. I haven't gone over there yet. I was going to visit for a bit before I started making plans." He exhaled. "I'll be there in about five minutes, Fi. Be careful."

"I will." She ended the connection and shifted the car into park, turned off the ignition, and hurried to the back door. It was closed and locked, so Fiona banged her fist on it.

Madeline peered through the sheer curtains, and Fiona could see that her eyes were red rimmed and brimming with tears. She was too late. Taking a deep breath, she vowed to stay calm no matter what Maddie threw at her or screamed when she knew the truth.

"Fiona! I'm so glad you're here," Maddie blubbered.

Fiona hadn't seen her like this in a long time. Not even when Nate died did she see such an emotional display. But back then, she had a reason to try to stay strong. This time, she let herself crumble, so the moment Fiona crossed the threshold, she threw her arms around Maddie and held her, stroking her back until she calmed.

"It's so horrible," Maddie stammered. "Why... why was Sam out on the water? He... he was in danger, he should have been in hiding. Tell me, Fiona! Why?"

"Madeline, please," Fiona spoke with a soft voice. "I need you to calm down for me, okay? Come on, let's go sit in the sun room." She led Maddie to the sun room. Charlie was nowhere to be seen. "Madeline, where's Charlie?"

"Laura took him home with her for awhile," Maddie replied and sniffled. "He was so upset by me being upset." She swiped at her eyes with a tissue that was in tatters. Fiona handed her a new one and she blew her nose. "Thank you."

Fiona directed Maddie to sit and she settled in next to her, an arm around the older woman's shoulders. "Madeline. There's something I have to tell you."

As Fiona revealed the plan to fake Sam's death and the unexpected turn it took, which they in turn used to further the plot to capture those who wanted Sam dead, Madeline's sorrow turned to rage. She pushed away from Fiona and paced in the small space. "How could you do this without telling me? Didn't you stop and think that I would see a report on television or in the paper and freak out?"

"I'm sorry. We were too busy thinking of the plan and helping Sam."

Jesse knocked on the back door and opened it a crack. "Hello, it's me. Is it okay for me to come in?"

"Sure, join the party and tell me how you could do this without warning me." Maddie called across the room and stood with her hands on hips as she moved into the dining room to intercept him. "Tell me, how could you do this?"

"Maddie, we're sorry," Jesse apologized with hands stretched to his sides and a contrite look on his face. "Things kind of happened fast, and this with Sam getting hurt, that wasn't supposed to happen. We didn't plan on that."

"How often do your plans work out," Maddie asked with a scoff. She really wished she had a cigarette at that moment, but she might not have been responsible for what she did with it. She was mad enough to do some damage.

"I don't know what we can do except say we're sorry," Jesse said. "Fi, I called the coroner's office, and they said that Mancuso just got in a little while ago. You better get over there, because if he was part of this, who knows what he'll do now."

"But Madeline..."

"I'll be fine," Maddie spat. "Just leave me alone right now, both of you. I need to sit down and recover from this shock, now that I know Sam is really alive." She pointed at them with her manicured nail. "You two, and Virgil, are in my dog house for awhile."

"We can deal with this later, Maddie," Jesse said. "Right now, I need to start making arrangements, talking to people who will help us put on a funeral knowing that the corpse is really alive." His eyebrow quirked up. "You wanna help me?"

"Well," Maddie hesitated. "I suppose, I've had experience setting up a couple of funerals before," she snapped. "Yes, I'll help."

Jesse grinned. "Alright, thank you, Maddie."

"But this doesn't let you off or get you in my good graces that easily." As Maddie spoke, her eyes squinted at Jesse as if she dared him to believe that he'd somehow patched things up with her. "We need to see if Laura can watch Charlie until I get back."

Jesse and Maddie went to the neighbor's house to discuss her keeping Charlie for the day, and Fiona broke away to go to the coroner's office to meet with Jim Mancuso. The officer at the front desk let her in, and she moved past empty cold rooms. A couple of bodies lay on the metal slab tables in two rooms, but her target was the office at the end of the hall on the right. She knocked on the frame.

"Mr. Mancuso?" She looked around but didn't see anyone in the office. She had an appointment with him. She called on her way there and he said he was free to see her. So where was he? Fiona listened. A metallic clanging sound got her attention, and she determined it came from one of the autopsy rooms. She turned toward one with a body in it, and as she reached out to push the door, she felt a resistance on the other side.

Fiona glanced up and down the hall but didn't see anyone besides herself. She pulled out her handgun and pushed harder on the door until it opened about a foot. She slipped in, and something grabbed her ankle. She aimed the gun at the figure sprawled on the floor.

"Mr. Mancuso," she gasped and swept the room for intruders before kneeling beside him. She swept her eyes over his body and discovered a slit on his throat that bled like a river.

"Ms. Glen... anne," Mancuso barely spoke.

"Who did this," she asked. Fiona stuffed her gun into her pocket and searched for a towel, anything large and absorbent to try to stem the flow. She pressed a thick cloth over it. He winced, but she wouldn't stop the pressure. "Who did this to you?"

"His... name... Scotty..." Mancuso rasped. "Scotty York." He choked on the last syllable and blood came from his mouth. He took one last breath, released it, and his eyes went blank. The hand he used to grab Fiona's arm in a weak hold slipped to the floor.

"Dammit." She couldn't find a pulse. Covered in Mancuso's blood, she jumped to her feet and ran down the hall screaming, playing the part of the shocked visitor.

The police sprung into action and interviewed Fiona, but they released her after a short while. She acted convincingly, and the police had no reason to assume anything other than that she stumbled upon the murder. It was true enough, but Fiona didn't have time to waste being held for questioning or possibly even being arrested for a crime she didn't commit. It was bad enough that she lost a source of information. It seemed that Mancuso could have led them to the perpetrator, now all she had was a name.

As soon as Fiona got into her car, she called Jesse. "Jesse, Mancuso is dead."

"What? Fi, what'd you..."

"I didn't do anything to him! I showed up and his throat was cut. The police determined that someone broke in through a back window and must have surprised the coroner when he was setting up for work." She let out a breath. "Thank God I went through the front door, so they knew I was a legitimate visitor and the timeline was such that I could never have done the job myself."

"Well, now what? If he wasn't part of it, we're at a dead end. So to speak."

"No, I don't think so. He said someone named Scotty York slashed him. I'm betting that Scotty also had something to do with Sam's near death. He was cleaning up loose ends." She turned onto the busy street. "I'm going home to change and then I'm heading to the hospital. How are you and Madeline doing with funeral arrangements?"

"I think Maddie's a little creeped out by having to set up a wake for a guy who's alive, but she's been a real trooper. The only thing that's getting her through this is that she's still mad at us."

Fiona sighed. "She'll get over it eventually. We might have to pay a little for it first, but she'll come around."

"Yeah. We'll meet you at the hospital. Later, Fi."

* * *

Virgil had been sitting for most of the morning beside Sam's bed, hoping that he would come awake soon. He only left for coffee and pee breaks. The one time he decided to take a stroll and stretch his legs, he returned to find Sam stirring and his eyes blinking.

Virgil grinned and slipped up beside him. "Hey, Sammy, it's good to see those brown eyes of yours. I was getting really worried about you."

"What happened?" Sam pulled the covers up to his chest as if Virgil's speedy arrival stirred a cool breeze.

After giving him a quick run-down, Virgil asked, "Does any of that jog a memory?"

"Vaguely. I was almost dead for real, huh?"

"Yeah." Virgil placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Not the way we wanted to pull this off, but this incident helped move things along. Jesse and Madeline are out working on the funeral. Fiona called, and she's on her way." Virgil licked his lips, holding off the inevitable news. "She went to see Mancuso, the coroner. Well, looks like he's gonna need one of those himself." Sam stared at him and he added, "Someone killed him, but not before Fi got a name from him. Scotty York. Do you remember anyone by that name, Sam?"

"Scotty... York?" Sam strained to recall someone from his past, but he was at a loss. He shook his head. "There was a guy in my unit in Afghanistan named Scott, but his last name was... oh man, I can't think."

"Don't strain yourself, Sammy. Just lay there and rest."

Jesse and Madeline arrived shortly before Fiona. Virgil called on the way and let him know that Sam was conscious. Resolved not to let miscommunication get in the way again, he relayed the message to Madeline. She cried tears of joy, and Jesse wondered if he had enough tissues in the console to last before they arrived at the hospital.

Maddie couldn't wait to get into Sam's room to see with her own eyes that he was alive. Losing her son Nate was hard. Every day she lived with the prospect of never seeing Michael alive again. The anxiety ate at her and it could have overtaken her, putting her back on all the pills and causing her to run back to the cigarettes, but she had Charlie now. He grounded her and focusing on him helped. Having Michael's friends around, and their treating her as if she were their mother also kept her sane. So when faced with Sam's death, it cut as deep as if it had been Michael. She was still angry that no one told her, but the moment she laid eyes on Sam and he smiled at her, nothing mattered but touching him, hugging him to make sure that he really was there in front of her and not laid out on some cold slab in the morgue.

She held on tight and was pleased by the strong response from Sam. When the two finally parted, she smiled through a new set of tears and said, "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Me too, Maddie," Sam replied with a smile, and a flick of his thumb swiped away the wetness below her eye. "I'm just sorry that nobody thought to clue you in on what was going on."

"I know now, and I want to help," Maddie said. She should have been upset with Sam too, but she couldn't find it in her when the man almost lost his life and now lay in a hospital bed. "How are you?"

"I had a nice long nap, and I'm just about ready to move on to the next step," Sam replied.

"Uh, I don't think so, Sam." Fiona pressed him into the angled head of the bed until his head sank into the pillow that Maddie puffed up for him. "Your job is to stay here and get well. We'll arrange the funeral and all you have to do is show up."

"Do you think we can pull it off," Sam asked. "Virgil told me about Mancuso. If someone has been listening in somehow, they'll know everything."

"Perhaps, but if our killer really believes you're dead, thanks to my buddy's newspaper article, we've got nothing to worry about," Jesse assured them. "He may have been wise to us faking it, but now there's nothing that would make him believe it's still a trap."

"That's true." Sam shifted in his bed, the idea of his friends planning something like this in his honor causing some discomfort. "Guy, just promise me you won't make it too elaborate, okay? It's nice to have a little recognition, but I'd rather just be cremated and scattered someplace."

"Well, you just stay here and think about what you'd like, while we do what we're going to do." Fiona patted his shoulder. "Jesse, shall we? Madeline, will you stay here?"

"Sure. It'll give me a chance to catch up with Virgil," Maddie said and threw him a sweet smile.

"You chaperone these two, Sammy," Jesse said with a teasing wink.

"Oh, great."

Sam, Virgil, and Maddie spent some time talking about the situation swirling around them like a hurricane. Eventually, Sam tired and fell asleep, leaving Maddie and Virgil to converse on a more personal level. Maddie brought them coffee from the cafeteria, because after the coroner's death, Virgil didn't want to leave his friend alone without armed backup for one second. Sam rested peacefully while life went on around him, and he dreamed of what his big day would be like.

* * *

The only times Sam wore a suit in civilian life was when he played Chuck Finley or he was taking Elsa out to a nice, swanky place. He didn't want to be laid out in one. That just wasn't him. But that is what they planned, and he had no choice but to go with it. So he tugged on the tie, setting it slightly askew, as he stood before the casket in which he would soon find himself.

"They did a nice job picking it out," Elsa said as she stepped up beside him.

"Elsa, what are you doing here?" He paled when he laid eyes on her. "Did Jesse tell you what happened?"

"Yes. It's okay, Sammy. I knew you all were planning something while I was gone, and I suspected something like this would be involved." She smiled and slid a hand up his lapel to the tie and tugged it back into place. "When I saw the Herald online, I didn't get upset. I thought Jesse's friend did an excellent job. The obituary was amazing." Her smile widened. "You might want to hang onto it for the day you really need it." Her voice hitched on the words and she blinked away rising emotions. She didn't want to think of this as ever being real. Elsa wanted them to be together forever.

Sam rested his hands on the edge of the open casket, mentally readying himself for this. Playing dead was not going to be easy, and the sedative that a buddy of his arranged for, which would make Sam appear to be dead but keep him alive, wasn't exactly foolproof. There was a risk that he could fall into such a deep coma that he would never come back. He pinched his eyes shut, put an arm around Elsa and squeezed her, and prayed that he made it through.

"It's time, Sammy," Jesse announced with a soft, reverent voice. He stood at the head of blue gray casket with his hands clasped before him, a syringe in one fist.

"Yeah, I suppose we better get this over with." Sam sighed.

With Jesse's assistance he climbed in, and he fidgeted around trying to get comfortable. "Jeez, it's a good thing that when I'm dead for real I won't feel a thing, because this really sucks. You should have gotten the deluxe model with better padding."

"Sorry, Sammy. Next time," Jesse promised.

Sam raised an index finger and pointed it at him. "You better, or I'll haunt you forever, man."

Jesse smirked. "Just get settled so I can shoot you up."

Releasing a heavy sigh, Sam shuffled himself around until he sort of felt comfortable. "Okay, do it."

Jesse pulled the needle guard off the syringe and held it over Sam, hesitating, thinking about what he was doing. If this went wrong, he would be killing his friend. Jesse swallowed a lump in his throat, and with no more thinking he lowered Sam's collar and jabbed the needle into his neck. Sam winced and sucked in a breath.

"Sorry, Sam."

Sam didn't reply. His heart was racing and he swore he could sense the drug running at light speed through his system. His lungs seized up and the breath he'd been holding slowly escaped. He could still breathe, but a momentary panic overcame him when he couldn't take a normal breath. His entire body seemed to be shutting down, paralyzing, until even his mind fogged and he couldn't see anymore or hear Jesse and Elsa talking to him. For all practical purposes, Sam Axe was dead.

"Wow, that worked fast," Jesse said. He snapped his fingers in front of Sam's eyes, but he didn't blink.

"Are you sure this was safe," Elsa asked. She picked up Sam's hand and her fingers roved to his pulse point. "I feel something. It's very faint, but he has a pulse."

"Good. As long as nobody decides to start feeling him up, they'll never know he's still alive," Jesse said.

Jesse put the syringe in his suit jacket pocket and he and Elsa repositioned Sam, closed his eyes, and readied him for an audience. By the time they were finished, he looked so peaceful, like at any moment he could awaken. However, unlike truly dead people, he had a shot at doing just that.

"He looks great," Virgil said as he came up to the casket with Fiona and Madeline. "You shoulda put him in his dress whites. A lot more dignified looking, if you ask me."

"I tried to convince Sam to wear his uniform, but he wouldn't have any of that," Jesse replied. "It was tough enough to convince him to wear the suit, believe me!"

Elsa stared at Sam, unsure if she was seeing him dead or alive. It unsettled her, and a tear escaped her eye.

"It'll be okay, Elsa," Madeline assured her.

"I'm trying to stay positive." Her eyes widened and she stared at Sam. She lowered her voice and asked, "Can he hear us?"

"I don't know," Jesse replied. "Sam's friend said that this stuff will make him oblivious for about five or six hours."

"That's all the time we need to pull this off," Virgil said. He tugged on the tie that seemed too tight. "I still think we shoulda done a good old fashioned tiki party. Only Sammy would probably be jealous that we got to have all the fun." He chuckled.

A sniffle echoed off the walls of the chapel in the funeral home, and everyone turned to see a platinum blonde woman standing in the doorway. She looked wealthy, and on a normal day she might even be sexy, but today her face was a mess from crying. Her low-cut dress couldn't hide her assets as she jiggled on stiletto heels to the front of the room where everyone stood around the casket. She passed one display after another of flowers that served as guideposts to the end. That was one thing no one counted on, was the outpouring of affection from people who knew Sam.

"Oh, Sammy," she wailed when she got a good look at him. "Why would anyone want to kill you?" She closed in, gripped the side with her hands, one of which held a damp handkerchief. She leaned over and kissed his lips, and for one scary moment, everyone held their breath.

Sam didn't move, and the woman didn't seem to notice that he wasn't cold.

When she tried to reach for him and caress his cheek, however, Elsa reached out and snatched the woman's arm away from her man. "Excuse me, but who are you," Elsa asked as politely as she could.

"I... I'm Veronica. Sammy and I, well, he was almost my fiance," Veronica announced in her sugary sweet voice. "I broke up with him when I found out he was already married, but..." Her face crumbled as she admitted, "I made a mistake, and now I can't ever take it back." She collapsed onto Elsa's shoulder and blubbered. Elsa, ignoring her indignation, simply rolled her eyes and stopped on Jesse's in a silent plea for him to help her get this old flame of Sam's off her.

Madeline stepped in and grasped Veronica's shaking shoulders. "Oh, come on, honey. Why don't you sit down over here?" With Elsa's help she pried her off and led Veronica to a chair a couple rows behind the front. She spoke to her in soft tones that only Veronica could hear.

"Okay, that was another thing we didn't count on, old girlfriends showing up." Jesse let out a breath. "I hope they don't get more dramatic than that."

"This could turn into a circus," Elsa said. "Maybe I should have some of my security come in as backup." She reached for her phone in her purse.

"I think that's a good idea," Virgil said. "If nothing else, they can help seal off the exits if our guy shows up and tries to make a run for it."

"Right now, I'm more worried about the parade of women," Jesse muttered.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

More flowers arrived before the funeral began, an entire van load. Between the number of people who filled the chapel, spilling out of the chair rows into the aisles and sides, and the bunches of roses, carnations, and a myriad of other flowers that crowded the front, there was little room left for mingling. Still, Jesse, Virgil, Fiona, and Madeline did their best. They listened to conversations, watched body language, and anyone who spent too much time hanging around the casket got their attention. Madeline silently volunteered and took up her watch beside Elsa, her eye on one man who hovered nearby.

The guy with the oiled hair and the drab gray suit that made him stand out among a throng of active and retired servicemen and well dressed women seemed innocent enough. He waited his turn and even let some of the female admirers pass him, but his eyes never left Sam's figure. He squinted and looked down his nose, and his head tilted. Maddie didn't like it. He suspected that Sam wasn't really dead. She wanted to run and find one of the others, but she was afraid if she stopped watching the man, he would do something to Sam. Not that she and Elsa could really do anything to stop him, but she would certainly try.

Jesse was watching from another angle, and he made his way to the casket as the other man finally stepped up to get a closer look at Sam. He leaned over, examined him like a bug under a microscope, and reached out to touch one of Sam's hands that was folded with the other over his mid-section.

"Hey, were you a friend of Sam's? Jesse Porter," he introduced himself, sticking out a hand so that the man had no choice but to take it or be rude.

"Scott Park. Sam and I go way back."

"Way back, huh?"

"Yeah. We were on a team in Afghanistan," Park replied as he eyed Jesse with suspicion. "On a suicide mission, and we lost over half our guys. Did he ever tell you about that?"

"Sam never talked about covert ops or anything classified. That's just the way he was." Jesse kept his hands in his pockets, where one contained a small caliber handgun, just in case. "You sound disappointed."

Park shrugged. "Well, how would you feel if you lost your best friend in the field because Lieutenant Commander Axe had to follow orders, even though our guide told us we had bad intel. We were hemmed in, ambushed, and my buddy got killed. I had a leg shot up so bad, they had to take it off just below the knee."

"Really. I didn't notice," Jesse said. Indeed, he hadn't, because the man propelled himself around as well as anyone with two healthy legs.

Park jerked up his left pant leg and revealed the artificial limb underneath. "Yeah, they can do pretty good these days giving people fake legs." He dropped the fabric and glared at Jesse. "Now if only they could do something about the rest of my life, I'd be a lot happier."

Jesse sensed Virgil standing near his shoulder and he glanced at him before turning his attention back to Park. "I don't follow you."

"Thanks to Axe, I got my leg shot off. I spent over nine months in the hospital, going through countless fittings and rehab, and when I got home with my medical discharge, I'd lost everything." As Park spoke in increasing agony, he ticked off each point on his fingers. "My wife couldn't stand to look at me and demanded a divorce. My baby girl didn't even know who I was. I had to move out of my hometown because the rednecks wouldn't stop harassing me, and the tree-hugging peaceniks said it was my own fault for getting shot up." He shook his head. "I've been on disability and the government don't give me enough to live on month to month, and I can't get a job." He ran out of fingers to count, and they curled into a tight fist.

"Man, I'm sorry, but you can't blame all that on Sam. He was following his orders." Jesse felt for the guy, but it was true.

"He knew the risk and he took it anyway, and it ruined my life." Park broke eye contact with Jesse. "And to top it off, after I got injured, he never checked up on me. Not once."

"I'm sorry. I don't know why he didn't," Jesse said. "Sam was a really kind, considerate friend."

"Maybe to you," Park spat.

"Mr. Porter, we're ready to begin." The funeral director, Mr. Esteban, told Jesse as he tapped his watch. He was aware of their plan and knew that they needed to stay on schedule.

Jesse took Elsa's elbow and led her to the head of the casket. "It's time, Elsa."

The naked fear and sorrow on her face were unmistakable. She knew her beloved was alive, but once that lid closed, they had a finite amount of time to conduct the service and get everyone out before they could open it again. Her mind reeled with thoughts of what might happen if the slightest delay kept them over the limit. No one would tell her the risks, but she could guess. There would be very little air inside and if Sam woke confined and in the dark, he might panic and use up the remainder. Then he would be die a horrible death for real.

A sob escaped Elsa's throat and Park glanced at her.

"Are you his wife?"

"No," Elsa managed to answer around the lump in her throat.

"Girlfriend, then." He smirked. "I know you're playing some kind of game here, trying to fool all these people. Don't know why, but I can guarantee I ain't as dumb as they are. Look at those ladies, kissin' him and not even realizin' that he's not cold."

Elsa's jaw dropped open, too shocked to speak. Jesse and Virgil looked at him as if he was crazy. "He's dead, sure as I'm standing here," Virgil assured him.

"Ya think so?"

"Yes. Now if you don't mind, we would like to conduct the service," Maddie said in a muted but forceful voice. "Sit down or get out."

Park shook his head and obeyed Maddie. He took a seat on the end of the second row where he could keep an eye on everyone. He folded his arms and an annoyed expression crossed his features, as if he couldn't wait for the service to be finished. Jesse signaled one of Elsa's security team members standing near Park, and he nodded in acknowledgement. He would watch the angry man.

The funeral director drew a curtain that separated the crowd from the people who had become Sam's family. Jesse had considered moving Sam out of the casket during this point in the service, but they wouldn't have had anywhere to stash him without people seeing that they were taking him away.

This was the riskiest part of their plan. "Okay, let's get this over with as soon as possible," Fiona mumbled. "I don't like this. If he runs out of air..."

"Why don't we just leave it open," Elsa asked with a shaky voice.

"No, we have to make this look legitimate, darlin'," Virgil said and put an arm around her. Maddie didn't bat an eyelash, so he squeezed her in reassurance. "It'll be okay."

"But if he wakes up or like Fiona said, he runs out of air, he'll die." Elsa sniffled.

"We're not gonna let that happen," Jesse interrupted. "Are we?" He stared at the funeral director.

"No Sir, Mr. Porter." Mr. Esteban smiled. "Let's get started."

Esteban and his assistant quickly and efficiently folded the liner inside and closed the casket. Elsa watched and remembered when the lid closed on her late husband, and the unreasonable sense of panic she felt for him. He was dead, it didn't matter to him, but for Sam it mattered a great deal. She wished he would wake up and end the insanity. The whole plan was crazy, and she was equally unbalanced to have gone along with it. She crushed a handkerchief in her hands when the cover came down and she lost sight of Sam's peaceful expression. She began to cry and took a step forward, but Virgil and Jesse held her back. Esteban pulled the curtain open slowly, giving Elsa enough time to compose herself, and the five moved to sit in the front seats. Jesse and Virgil flanked Elsa, and Maddie sat to Virgil's right, while Fiona took the chair to Jesse's left.

During the service, Elsa couldn't take her eyes off the beautiful vessel that held Sam's unconscious form. She wrung her hands around the linen handkerchief that her mother had embroidered many years ago. The last funeral she used it at was her husband's. She tried to remind herself that this time was different, that Sam was only in a very deep sleep and he would awaken. But as time dragged too slowly, she imagined Sam being trapped and unable to do anything to save himself. Injecting him with the drug was bad enough. She hated every part of this plan, but everything was on its course now. She could only sit and watch it unfold and hope that whoever wanted Sam dead would show themselves.

The coward never made him or herself obvious. She hadn't considered that it might be a woman until she'd seen all the female admirers congregated around him. Elsa kept her eye on Veronica and made a mental note to ask Sam about her after everything was done. That is, if he survived. She held back another sob. The tension in her chest made her want to scream and rush up to the casket and rip it open so Sam could breathe when he awoke. Jesse put a comforting arm around her and she leaned into him. They must have thought she was playing her part well, but she wasn't acting. Elsa had never been so afraid in her life, and it was difficult to remain dignified with so many emotions rolling around inside her.

"Now, if anyone would like to speak their piece about Mr. Axe, you're welcome to come to the podium," Mr. Esteban invited.

Before anyone could move, Virgil shot out of his seat and stepped to the microphone. "Good afternoon. Some of you know me. I'm Virgil Watkins. I retired from the Navy several years back, before Sammy did, and I had a nice little business set up here in Miami. But Sammy and me, we always kept in touch when he wasn't in the middle of something classified." Knowing murmurs and chuckles filled the room. "When he settled in Miami and we got to do a couple jobs together, it was like old times." He grinned. "Of all the people I've worked with over the years, in the military and in civilian life, Sam was the one I could trust more than anybody. He knew when to keep his mouth shut, and when to blab your business and embarrass the hell out of you." He chuckled even as tears stung his eyes. "He was good at compartmentalizing work and goofing off times, and he was damn good at knowing how to have fun. I'm gonna miss that."

A Naval officer with a chest full of medals came up and told some funny stories about him and Sam. Shore leave incidents that should have gotten them into serious trouble were brought out in the open and people laughed. A few of the women stepped up, but they kept the more intimate moments to themselves. Veronica was so distraught, she wanted to speak but only wound up falling apart and no one could understand a word she said.

"We better cut this short," Fiona whispered to Jesse as she tapped her watch and her eyes roved to Esteban. "We're already ten minutes over. Sam could be suffocating in that thing."

"The oxygen should last another half hour or so, but don't worry. The second the crowd is out of here, Esteban will open the casket."

"You're sure?" Fiona pierced him with her gaze.

Before Jesse could answer, Mr. Esteban moved to the front and addressed the people. "Thank you all for coming. We ask that you now head out, and in a few minutes we will be taking the casket to the hearse, and there will be a graveside service conducted by Father Francis."

The people rose from their seats and moved to the exit. Elsa, Fiona, Jesse, Maddie and Virgil stayed seated, their eyes never leaving the casket. If anyone lingered, perhaps it would be the suspect. Fiona kept her watch in her peripheral vision, and as the minute hand moved her foot jiggled in increasing frequency. Sam had five minutes of air left at the most, and the amount of carbon dioxide trapped inside would most likely be fatal within minutes. If he woke before the cover was opened, Fiona didn't want to think about the results.

Voices faded down the hall and the door slammed continuously as the stragglers finally left the building. She glanced toward the back and saw a couple of people still there, and one of them was Scott Park. Please leave, she thought. A muffled thump came from the casket. For a moment, Fiona thought she was hearing things, but it was followed by another, and a third in quick succession.

"Oh crap," Jesse muttered and paled. He stood and turned to the security man, nodded, and the man returned the nod before hurrying up the aisle to the entrance.

"Folks, you'll have to leave now," he said as he gestured for Park and the other man to exit the room.

"I knew it," Park cried out. "I knew this was a scam." He pulled out a small automatic pistol and fired at the security guard. He hit his target and he went down clasping his upper chest, but Park didn't care. He raced toward the casket, which Esteban and Virgil were attempting to open.

Jesse jumped at Park and grabbed his wrist, and the two fought for control of the gun. A shot went wild and pierced the ceiling. Fiona launched herself at him from behind, and with Jesse's help she dragged him to the floor. The gun went off again and a woman screamed.

"Fi, watch it," Jesse warned. He still had a hold on Park's wrist, and with her assistance he flipped Park onto his stomach and twisted his arm, making him drop the weapon. "You got those cuffs in your purse?"

"Of course," Fiona replied. "Can you hold him?"

"What do you think?"

Park swung his artificial leg up to try to kick Jesse, but he countered and pinned him down with his shin. The servicemen who volunteered to act as pallbearers came running down the aisle and surrounded Park, and suddenly he didn't have a chance of escaping.

"Jesse, help," Maddie cried. "They can't get the lid open."

Jesse snapped the second cuff around Park's wrist. "Get him out of here, guys. And thanks."

"No problem," one of the men wearing a Navy Captain's uniform replied with a smile. The expression wavered as he watched Jesse hurry to the casket and work with Esteban and Virgil to try to open it.

"Yeah, let's go scumbag," someone else said and the men picked Park up from the floor and goose-stepped him out to the waiting police. "Somebody go check out that security guard."

Esteban's assistant arrived with a long, thin metal bar made of strong steel. He slipped it between the slim gap that Jesse and Esteban created by pulling up on the cover. The assistant and Virgil used it as a lever, grunting and putting all their weight on it. The cover would not be moved.

"Oh no, he's going to die in there!" Elsa cried from her place on the outer edge of the circle.

"No, he's not. They'll get him out," Maddie assured her. She wrapped her arms around Elsa and held her in place as she said, "You have to believe, that's all."

"It's not working. What now," Elsa asked with a shaking voice.

"I've got an idea," Virgil said as he pulled out his gun. "Where are the latches on this thing?"

"Right here for the top, and down near his ankles for the bottom," Esteban answered as he pointed to the spot on the upper half. "Careful. This thing is made of steel, but it's not that thick. A bullet can pass through it."

"That's what I'm counting on," Virgil replied as he aimed at an angle and fired. Their ears rung from the sound and Virgil pumped another round into the same area just to be on the safe side. Gun smoke hung in the air, its acrid odor a reminder of the risk he took.

Jesse moved forward and he and the director pushed on the cover. It moved, and they threw it up until the hinge locked in the open position. Inside, Sam's chest heaved as he sucked in fresh air. He slowly opened his eyes and they moved, scanning everyone looking down at him.

"Oh my god, he's alive!" Veronica screamed and immediately crumpled to the floor in a faint.

"Where'd she come from," Jesse asked.

"I have no idea," Virgil replied, ignoring the woman on the floor. He reached out and grasped Sam's hand. "Hey, you okay, Sammy?"

Sam was still groggy from the drug and attempted to sit. He rose up on his elbows and stared at his friend. "Virg... did you shoot at me?"

"Well, it wasn't you. First it was that Park fella, and then I shot off a couple rounds to get the lid open." Virgil's eyes crinkled along with his brow, and he asked, "Why? You know I'd never shoot to kill ya, Sammy!"

"Yeah, but that was really loud in there!" He sucked in so much air, his head felt like it was swimming. "Oh man, I've gotta lay down, but not in here. Get me outta this damn thing." He rasped. "Now!"

The bottom half of the lid opened with little trouble, and Jesse half lifted and half pulled Sam out of the casket. His legs were like rubber and he collapsed, but Virgil was there to take the opposite side and drag Sam to a chair. They sat him in it and held onto him to keep him from flopping off to the side.

"My head's spinning," Sam warned moments before he keeled forward, out cold.

"Okay, we better lay him on the floor," Jesse said. "Get his legs up."

As they positioned Sam, Veronica was coming to, and she groaned and sat up with Fiona's help. Her eyes landed on Sam. "What... what is going on here?" She glanced around at the others. "Are you people sick? Making people believe that Sammy was dead when he wasn't? How could you do that?"

"It's a long story, Veronica. One we don't have time for," Fiona answered as she and Maddie helped her to her feet.

Veronica shrugged them off, pulled her purse strap onto her shoulder, and huffed, "I used to think Sam was a sweetheart. But if you're the kind of people he hangs out with... They say you can tell a lot about a man by the company he keeps." She sniffed and added, "I'm glad I dumped him." She took a step forward and looked down at Sam, who was starting to come around again. She tapped his shoulder with her stiletto platform sandal. "If you think I'm attending your next funeral, think again. Jerk!"

She whirled and rushed out as fast as her feet would take her without stumbling. Everyone was too concerned about Sam to notice.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Being dead, at least chemically, was a horrible experience, not something Sam wanted to do ever again. After spending one day in the hospital to flush the drugs out of his system, he should have been resting. Instead, he stood at the bedroom window and looked out at the bay beyond the swimming pool. Elsa took him to the mansion, thinking he would have more peace and quiet there. He would rather have gone to the hotel. Still, he couldn't help but be thankful for Elsa and how well she knew him.

On the drive there, Elsa glanced at him for a moment and returned her attention to driving. "I know you. If you're at the hotel you'll go to Carlito's, and the doctor said you shouldn't drink for forty eight hours..."

"Twenty four of which are already over," he countered.

"Depends on when you're counting," she threw back with a grin and a shake of her head. "See what I mean? You can't be on your own. You need someone to monitor you, and take care of you." She turned onto the bridge for Star Island and drove over it. "The mansion is the perfect place for you to be right now."

"Yeah, I suppose so. Give me a chance to catch up on some reading, I guess," Sam muttered.

At least Elsa wasn't going back to Vancouver. She was staying with him, sacrificing a deal that could have allowed her to branch out on the west coast. Finally, he had the proof that he was more important to her than money and the trappings of her life. As he remembered the exchange in the car, a sense of overwhelming love overtook him, causing him to waver. He needed to lay down before he dropped to the floor.

Her knuckles rapped on the door frame, and Elsa entered the room with a tray on which she transported a plate with a sandwich on it, a small bowl of fresh cut up fruit, and a glass of water with a wedge of lemon on the rim. Her eyes locked on Sam. With concern in her voice, she said, "Sam, you're looking pale. You better lay down right now."

"I'm getting there, sweetheart," Sam replied and lowered himself to his side of the bed. He smiled when Elsa set the tray on the night stand and lifted his legs to set them on the duvet. She slipped off his shoes and let them fall with a muted thump to the floor.

"You need to take a nap," Elsa asked. "Your lunch can wait if you need to sleep."

"After the kind of sleep I had, I want to stay awake for quite awhile," Sam replied. The corner of his mouth tipped up into a sly smile, and without warning he cupped her elbow and pulled her down on top of him.

When he let her up for air, Elsa murmured, "Sam. Careful."

"Don't worry, I'll pace myself," he said and laughed, and he tucked her into his arm before rolling with her until they lay side by side. "Thank you..." He kissed her with increasing intensity. "You didn't have to stay... to take care of me."

"I love you, Sam. I almost lost you yesterday." She took his affection and compounded it with her own, caressing his face and running her hand down to his exposed chest. "I can't just get over that and go back to business as usual." Their lips locked and he played with hers, sending shockwaves through her. Breaking away, her lips moved. "Sam, I want you."

That's all he needed to hear. He used his body to trap her, but she didn't mind. His hands moved over her, the tips of his fingers plying their magic that never failed to turn her to jelly. Her breath quickened and she pulled at his clothing. Elsa couldn't get close enough fast enough.

The phone rang and destroyed the spell. "Ignore it," she whispered. "It's probably just business."

Sam chuckled against her lips, pulled away and stared at her. "Just business? Really? I never thought I'd hear you be so casual about business."

The phone wouldn't stop. Elsa's face twisted into an expression of annoyance. "Okay, fine. Get it for me, please."

He reached for the receiver on the night stand, hit the button and handed it to Elsa. As she spoke into it, he got to his hands and knees and crept backwards while Elsa scrambled to sit and straighten her clothing as if the person on the other side could see her. "Hello?" She listened a moment. "Uh, yes, he's here. He's been trying to rest, but..." Sam tried to stifle a snicker, and she glared at him. "He's awake right now. Just a second."

"Who is it," Sam asked as she pressed her palm over the mouthpiece.

"It's a Detective Orlando from the Miami PD."

Sam was about to ask what he wanted, but he heard the man on the other end. "Mr. Axe?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Axe. I'm Detective Orlando from the Miami PD. I've been assigned to the Scott Park case."

"Okay. Was there something you needed from me?" He sat on the edge of the bed and Elsa remained close, massaging his shoulders with her hands.

"I'm kind of at a standstill. I mean, we have tons of evidence on Park and interviews with witnesses, but I need your side of the story." He let out a breath. "And I need his. Park won't talk to us. He won't talk to a lawyer either."

"Why not?"

"Between you and me, I think the guy's just snapped. Happens all the time to people who are at the end of their rope. I was hoping that you could come in this afternoon and tell me what happened... and maybe you can talk to him. You guys were team mates at one time, correct?"

"Yes, we were. That was a long time ago and there's a lot of water under the bridge. He may not want to talk to me, especially after, you know, wanting to kill me."

Elsa sat beside Sam on the edge of the bed, her head shaking and her brows clamped down in anger. There was no way she would let him get face to face with the man who wanted to destroy him. Sam gave her a reassuring smile and let his fingertips caress her cheek.

Aloud, he said, "I'd like to do what I can to help. Not just you guys, but Scotty, too."

"I'm not sure how you can help him. The man is pretty unhinged." The Detective's dismissive tone struck a nerve.

Sam composed himself and spoke in an even tone that in another situation would have sounded threatening. "Have you ever served, Detective?"

"Yeah, sure. But I never got sent overseas anywhere. Why?"

"If you'd seen some of the things I've seen as a SEAL and dealing with covert ops, you wouldn't be able to sit there and just write off a guy who cracked."

"Sam, you're not going to excuse what he did, are you," Elsa asked, shocked.

"What Scotty did was wrong, Elsa, and he needs to deal with the consequences. However, I think I can forgive him, because if he'd been in his right mind he wouldn't have done what he did."

Orlando released a deep breath. "For a second there I thought you were gonna ask that the charges be dropped."

"No, not if he gets the help he needs because of them." It would have been so easy for Sam to be angry and wish for revenge, but he'd seen enough horrors in his own life that sometimes he wondered why he didn't break down like Park did. Was it inner strength? And why was he so fortunate? "From what I've been told, he seems to blame me for all his problems. If I'd known, I would have been willing to sit down with him and help figure them out. Try to make right what I could."

"You can't blame yourself for how this Park guy reacted to the other things in his life," Elsa protested. "It wasn't your fault to begin with. He was probably just looking for a scapegoat."

Sam patted Elsa's knee and turned his attention back the phone. "I'd really like to meet with him."

"What? Sam, no, I can't allow it," Elsa said, her voice hard and stubborn.

"You can't allow it," Sam retorted, liked his lips, and his lips formed a hard edge. "It's up to the law if I can see him or not."

"You really want to meet with Park," Orlando asked, the tone of his voice tentative, as if he questioned Sam's sanity.

"I do."

"Fine. I'll see what I can do."

* * *

The psychiatric ward at the county jail was secure enough for an ex-SEAL, capped by the men dressed in riot gear outside the rec room where Park was sitting at a table. Sam came alone. He didn't need Elsa's resistance to interfere, and Scotty didn't know her. He didn't want to take any chances on how his old friend would react. Since his conversation with Orlando, Sam had a lot of time to think about the past and what happened. In particular, the incident that sent Park's world spiraling out of control filled his mind. He couldn't remember all the details, but with a little help from a buddy he got in his hands the battle report. He pored over it, trying to figure out where he went wrong.

Now he was behind the prison walls attempting to reach into a man he'd known long ago as a happy guy with a bright future, who took his job seriously but could let loose when the situation called for it. He was like the others in the team until that day he lost part of his leg. Sam needed to know how Scott wound up down this path. Maybe it would help him deal with his friend Mike, and keep him from crossing a line and becoming lost to himself forever.

"Park, you've got a visitor," the guard who accompanied Sam announced as he stood blocking the television in the corner. A few other inmates sat in front of it watching a movie.

Park looked up at the guard with angry eyes. "You're in my way. Move it, or you'll be sorry."

The guard addressed Sam without acknowledging Park's impotent threats. "You sure you wanna talk to this guy, Mister?"

"Yeah."

At the sound of Sam's voice, Park whirled and stared at him, surprise giving way to the veil of anger and a glimpse of hurt before it completely covered him. "What do you want, Commander Axe," he spoke with a sneer. "Come back to ruin my life some more? What you did yesterday wasn't enough?"

He could have answered fire with fire, but Sam knew better. Words that he didn't sugar coat came out of his mouth in such a soft tone, it disarmed Scotty's bluster. "I didn't put that gun in your hand. You made that choice." He inclined his head, signaling the guard to leave them. He watched the man take up a position near the door.

"You've got twenty minutes, Mr. Axe."

"Thanks." He turned back to Park, and he was pleased to see that he'd calmed.

"You turned your back on me," Park said. "I could have attacked you just now, and you knew it. But you turned away. Why?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess I didn't really believe you were that kind of threat." He took a step closer into the man's personal space. "Scotty, I knew you. You were too good to do something like this. What happened?"

"You don't care." He turned his head, his eyes blinking.

"I'm sorry if you got that impression somewhere along the way, but it's not true." He dared to reach out and take his elbow in a gentle grip. "Come on, let's go sit down." Scotty wouldn't move. "Hey, remember that time your girlfriend broke up with you by letter, and it took six months to get that thing? I didn't forget how upset you were, and how we cheered you up."

Scotty remembered too, and a slow, tentative smile crossed his lips. "Yeah. The guys on our team were great." He met Sam's eyes and continued, his voice thick with emotion. "And I remember how you and I talked about it. I never thanked you for that."

Sam smiled. "That's okay. We were friends, not just team members. Friends do that for each other. So come on, let's sit down and talk about this mess you got yourself into."

"No, I can't. It's too complicated."

Standing in place and folding his arms across his chest, Sam said, "I'm not leaving without hearing your side of things. The cops already know everybody else's story. I want to hear yours."

"It's not going to change anything. They'll convict me and send me to prison, so why bother?"

"What's gotten into you, Scotty? You never used to give up so easily." Sam guided Scotty to a chair at a small table, pressed on his shoulders until he sat, and took the chair opposite him. He folded his hands on the surface, relaxed, as if they were just a couple of buddies hanging out together. "Maybe what you tell me can help me get you a good lawyer. Just humor me, okay?" Seeing that Scotty was still hesitant, Sam rested his palms on the table as he leaned back in his chair and let his gaze turn as hard as steel. "Or do you want me to pull rank on you, Sailor?"

"No, Sir," Scotty answered, his bottom lip trembling as he fought the urge to smile.

"Good. So let me have it. What happened after you were shot up back in Afghanistan?" He leaned forward again and gave Scotty his full attention.

Nothing seemed to go right for the man after he lost his leg. He came home to find his family shell-shocked and not sure how to deal with his loss of mobility and the nightmares he endured. "Practically every night I relive that day, Sam. I wake up screaming that my leg is gone and I can't find it anywhere, and until I'm really awake I think this time... this time I'll find it. Maybe they can put it back." Scotty squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head. "My fiancee couldn't handle it. She dumped me, and all her Mom could think about was all the money she wasted on deposits for things that would never get used."

"Civilians just don't understand, Scotty. They saw what we did to Hussein in the first Gulf Ware and thought that modern warfare was quick and easy. They're still not prepared for the fallout after all these years."

"So I'm supposed to give them a pass and say sorry, or what?" Scotty asked with despair written on his face. "You don't understand all the harassment I got, and nobody would give me a chance. It all hinged on what happened in Afghanistan, and if you hadn't followed orders, maybe things would have been different."

Sam slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Scotty, but you know I couldn't disobey. Yeah, Hakim said there were Taliban in those hills, the same hills that we flushed out and cleaned up a few days earlier. The spy satellites said it was clear, the orders came down, and it would have been suicide for my career if I listened to a farmer instead of my superiors."

"You should have..."

"Don't play that woulda shoulda coulda game," Sam countered and pointed at him. "It doesn't change anything except make you a little sadder inside."

"God knows I got plenty of that," Scotty murmured.

"If you really want to do that to yourself, why don't you think back to that day and remember where you were situated in the lineup." Sam was sitting so close to the table, he was almost on top of it. His eyes narrowed as he saw Scotty trying not to think about the details. "Yeah, you remember I told you to stay close. That trail was a web of booby traps, and if those didn't get us, being out in the open would."

"There were a few trees for cover," Scotty stated as the denial dribbled out of him. "I know I should have stayed closer to 'em, but I couldn't see, Sam. I couldn't see to shoot at any of our enemy."

"We were supposed to get out of there. Those were our orders," Sam declared with a soft voice. "We were supposed to avoid being detected and wait to engage the enemy until the choppers came in, and we should have been on the other side of the valley by then. Flank 'em and hose 'em. That was the plan."

Scotty nodded. "I remember."

"True, we didn't expect so many to come out of the woodwork too soon for us to strike, but you know, that's life. It's never predictable, as much as you'd like to try to control it." Sam released a sigh of pity for Scotty's struggle. "There's something greater than us in control. Good and evil."

"And evil seems to be getting the upper hand on a daily basis."

Sam snickered. "You got that right, Brother. I'd drink to that, but, uh, they wouldn't let me smuggle in a mojito."

Against his desire to hold back, Scotty smiled and chuckled before regaining control again. "Good luck with that. They don't let anything get in here. I'm surprised they let you come see me, especially after what I did."

"What did you do exactly, other than try to shoot me through an aluminum casket wall?" Sam gave him all his attention.

"I wanted to ruin your life like you did mine," Scott answered. He spread his hands wide in the air and gave him a sad smile. "That's all it was, plain and simple. I had a friend who could hack into the government computers, and she made it look like you were dead. She didn't have to do much, but one thing led to another pretty fast."

"How did Mancuso fit into this?"

"He wasn't an accomplice, that much I can tell you." Scotty let out a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. "After you and your friend started sniffing around, Mancuso got wise. I planned it out with too many details, that's what tripped me up."

"Who was the guy you staged to be me," Sam asked, afraid of the answer he would receive.

"He was just some guy. He was homeless, like me, and we hung out under the overpasses during the day. It's cooler down there, by the water. Anyway," Scotty hesitated. He looked into Sam's eyes and saw nothing but a desire to know the truth. "I didn't kill him, if that's what you're thinking. He got drunk on some cheap hooch one of the other bums got off a guy selling on the street. He passed out, and in the morning, he wasn't breathing and he was turning colors." Scotty rested his chin on his stacked fists and his eyes were downcast. "His name was Jase." He looked up at Sam. "I never got his last name. But I couldn't believe my luck, how he kinda reminded me of you. I got a hold of my friend, and she helped me set it all up."

Sam closed his eyes and wished he hadn't heard that there was someone else involved. "What's her name? Where can I find her?"

"No, I promised I wouldn't tell, and I won't." Scotty pursed his lips and shook his head in stubbornness. "You're lucky I told you what I did."

"Okay, then." Sam stood and said, "I'll see what I can do to help you, Scotty."

"It would have been simpler just to surprise you one day and shoot you, like at that bar you like to go to, Carlito's."

"Scotty..."

"Sam, it would probably be best if you just left. Forget everything I told you, and just let me rot in here." Scotty was so ashamed of what he'd become and what he'd done to a man who had once been a good friend, not to mention a role model. He met Sam's eyes, his own wet and glistening. "I just want it all to end."

Sam had been through some hard times in his life, but he could never understand the misfortunes that drove Scotty to the brink. Dealing with his friend Mike's problems over the past few years had been stressful and harrowing at times, but he got through it with the help of his friends. As far as he could tell, Scotty had no one close to him. However many years and miles separated them, he was still a friend. Sam pressed his hand onto Scotty's shoulder and squeezed it.

"I'll think about it. Then I'll figure out what I can do to get you out of here." He was even more certain that Scotty didn't need to be in prison. He needed psychiatric help.

As soon as Sam left the building, he pulled out his phone and began calling everyone he knew who had connections to psychologists, psychiatrists, mental health clinics, any resource that could help. He got an earful of information and decided that ultimately Scotty needed a lawyer to help sort out the legalities and making sure the man wound up where he could get help.

* * *

It had been over a week since Sam found a lawyer who would take Scotty's case and work to get him remanded to a psychiatric facility instead of potentially spending years in prison. Kendall Loughlin said he would keep in touch, but Sam and Elsa took a nice relaxing trip to the Caymans for a week, mix of pleasure with some business. Maybe Loughlin couldn't get through to Sam's cell. He smirked, thinking that he did have it turned off most of the time he and Elsa were together. Then he felt a little guilty about that, because he promised Scotty he would take care of his case.

"Loughlin, Bryer, and Mayr," the receptionist answered the phone when Sam called.

"I'd like to speak with Kendall Loughlin. This is Sam Axe."

"Oh," the receptionist said with a tone that sent a prickle of dread up Sam's spine. "This is about the Scott Park case, correct?"

"Yes."

"One moment, Sir."

Soft classical music grated on Sam's nerves as he waited. He would have preferred some classic rock, but it wasn't meant to be. Fortunately, the wait was short, and he heard the line open again.

"Mr. Axe, it's Kendall Loughlin. Good to hear from you."

Sam knew that tone of guarded cheer, and his sense that something was wrong doubled.

"Thanks. I was away the past week, but I was hoping you'd call." He listened to the silence on the other side of the line. "Mr. Loughlin? Is there something wrong?"

"I tried to call you a few days after you hired me. I went to see Scotty the day after and I started working on an approach to his defense," Loughlin reported. "But Scotty was so despondent. When he didn't tell me what he'd done, he kept saying it was useless, pointless." He sighed, a sound of deep sorrow. "Mr. Axe, I'm sorry. I should have seen it. I should have asked for someone to keep better watch on him."

"Mr. Loughlin, what happened?" The prickling had turned into ice picks dancing on his skin.

"He tried to take a guard's weapon. Well, he did take a guard's weapon. No one knows if he intended to use it on himself or one of the guards, but he threatened them, they warned him to put it down, and..."

Sam released a breath he'd been holding, hoping for a better ending, but he could have written the story himself. "Suicide by cop."

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

Muttering under his breath, Sam had no idea what he said to Loughlin before hanging up the phone. The hole he punched in the wall, however, was evidence of the pain and frustration of being unable to do anything to help. It was crazy. The man wanted to ruin him, and make him suffer. Yet Sam turned around and tried to help, and in the end Scotty got what he wanted. A release from the perceived hell of his life. Revenge on the Commander who he blamed for everything since he lost a piece of himself. It would be awhile before Sam would get over the temptation to second guess and play the what if game himself.

"Sam? Sam, are you here?"

He heard Elsa's voice and stared at the hole he made, his eyes widening in panic. He left the room, closed the door behind him, and vowed to keep her out of the bedroom until he could get someone in maintenance to fix the damage. Now, that was a first, trying to keep Elsa out of the bedroom. But he had to do it. He couldn't let her see what he'd done without her worrying about his sanity.

"Hey, honey. What's up," Sam asked with a smile pasted on his face.

"This came in my mail. It's a letter from the government apologizing for the mixup, and that you are now officially alive again." Elsa smiled. "Oh, and the bank called. Your account is unfrozen. The DMV sent a letter too, saying your license is no longer revoked. And they're reminding you that your driver's license is up for renewal in two months."

"Great."

"Hey, you wanted to be alive," Elsa said as she dropped the paperwork onto the dining room table and took him into her arms. Her smile widened as her hands roved down and up his arms and she took in his scent. "It's great to be alive, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He held her closer, rested his chin on her shoulder, and thought of Scotty and what he could have had. At the same time, he thanked God that he hadn't gone down the same road, or whatever twisted path that his friend Mike was currently navigating. "I wasn't ready to be the late, great Sam Axe yet."

"I wasn't ready for that either," Elsa said. "Right now... you're just grrrreat." She kissed him until she felt like she was on fire. "Mmmmm, while I'm up here, let's go to the bedroom. I've got a little time."

"Uh, no, not there. Let's get in the hot tub."

"Oooo, I like where you're going." She actually giggled and trotted to the bathroom that had a separate entrance from that to the master bedroom, saving Sam from an explanation.

"I'll be right there, baby." Sam reached for a bottle of wine from the wine cooler, slipped a couple of glasses from the cupboard, and hurried to the bathroom to enjoy a little afternoon Sammy time. It wouldn't erase the feelings he had about his friend, but at least he could again be thankful for being alive.


End file.
